Ally Cat
by BM originally
Summary: ATFWhen his cover is blown on an operation, Ezra and the team must race against time to salvage what they can of the casebefore the foe makes good on his vow to assassinate Ezra. Meanwhile, an unknown enemy lurks in the shadows....Ezra, OC, seven
1. Prologue & Getting to Know Your Enemy

Ally Cat 

_Author:_          BM

_Genre:_ATF

_Rating:_          PG-13 (for violence)

_Major_  

_Characters:_   Ezra, non-romantic OC, seven

_Disclaimer:_   I obviously don't own 'em.  But since those who do aren't using them right now…..

_Notes:_Special thanks to all you out there who have been writing fan fiction for the Mag 7.  Your stories are great! Please keep up the good work!  Thanks to Mog for the ATF universe.  I love it!  The guys fit into it so well—I wish it were on TV!  

Team 8 appears courtesy of HeatherF.  They are great guys!  Thanks for creating them and for letting me borrow them.  I'll return them in tip top shape.

A huge THANK YOU goes out to HeatherF and Enola for all the help they gave me in writing this epic.  Thank you so, so much for all the feedback, advice and encouragement!  It would have never got out of the hangar, let alone off the ground, without you.  Thank you for being willing to put up with all my questions and for kindly being willing to read and critique this story.  And thanks most of all for all the inspiration!  You guys are truly talented writers and have my deepest gratitude and admiration.

_Warnings:      _Yes, there is some violence.  And there is some bad language (because face it, the guys just do not have the best vocabularies, save for Ezra, and even he resorts to the fouler sort when the situation calls for it).  The words are blanked out for my own conscience's sake, but you get the idea.  I don't speak that way personally, but, as I'm trying to keep them in character—well, you know how it goes.

I realize that some parts may sound familiar or similar to other stories out there, but any similarities perceived or otherwise are purely unintentional.  It's just that I've read SO many Magnificent 7 fan fiction stories, that they've all began to jumble up in my head, and certain ideas have just became canon to me.  Consider it to be a form of flattery!

Finally, yes, there is an OFC in this story, and she does play a major part, but she is NOT—and NEVER will be— a romantic interest or a Mary Sue, nor will she become a part of the seven, etc.  So, give her a chance, please?

This is my first attempt at fan fiction and I realize that the writing quality isn't all that great (especially at the beginning!), but I hope to improve with practice—indeed, I think it improves as the story goes along.  So if you like the story, please let me know!  I need all the encouragement I can get!

  
PROLOUGE 

_To those around him, Paul Randolph had everything—a six figure income, a mansion on the boulevard, a beautiful wife, a high performance stock portfolio.  He drove a Rolls-Royce, owned a private jet and a condo in __Tahiti__, had Sunday brunch with the governor, played golf with Supreme Court judges.  His was a true rag-to-riches story, having grown up on a dirt farm in __Kansas__ as a boy, then working his way through college by holding two jobs.  He graduated at the top of his class and had his MBA a little over a year later.  He took a job in what was then Hansford Mutual Financing, Limited and quickly rose through the ranks to become the youngest partner in the company's history.  _

_Through his leadership, the company grew with leaps and bounds, and he easily filled the role of CEO when the position opened a few years later.  He had expanded the company's holdings and weathered the times of recession when other companies were failing all around him, emerging as a giant in the financial world.  The media haled him as the next Allen Greenspan, while his enemies admired his business sense and leadership.  Charities throughout the west held him dear as a generous philanthropist.  He donated money to fund schools, homeless shelters, and civic organizations. _

_ Every Christmas, he held a charity ball in the Clairmont Resort, of which he owned controlling stock, to raise money for the local children's hospital, and every June, he personally gave out scholarships worth full tuition for four years to the institution of their choice to deserving graduates across the city.  He was chairman of the board of __Denver__'s Economic Council, a position which he had held with much success for the last four years, and was an honorary member of the __University__ of __Colorado__'s Alumni Association.  His employees respected him as a fair man, his friends envied his success, and many believed that he would easily be a future governor or senator, if he so chose._

_But few knew the true Paul Randolph, nor his little secret.  By day, he was a successful entrepreneur and one of the most well-known and looked up to figure in Denver, but by night, he was the director of one of the largest criminal organizations in the country, with ties to the Russian mob, the mafia, and many of the American crime families.  He wielded great power on the black market, buying and selling goods around the world.  He owned interest in opium fields in __East Asia__, marijuana plantations in __South America__, and chemical plants in __Mexico__.  He was a money lender to several crime organizations, and was a silent partner in several Swiss banks. He routinely bought and sold munitions of all kinds with little thought or care into whose hands the merchandise fell.  _

_To those who knew the true man, __Randolph__ was cold, calculating, and utterly ruthless._

CHAPTER 1 

"Ladies and Gentlemen.  I thank you all for attending this special concert by the Denver Symphony Orchestra to benefit the widows and orphans fund of the Denver City Police Department.  The officers of the DPD stand as a wall of protection between us and the evils of our society.  They lay their lives on the line everyday to ensure our safety, sacrificing their own safety and sometimes, their very lives, for the greater good of those around them.  They are true heroes, deserving of our highest honor and respect.  

"But even as we lift them up and praise them, we must not forget that they are human too.  They are fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, sisters and brothers.  They have wives and children, families that depend on them and love them.  And at those times when the unspeakable happens and an officer is called upon to give the ultimate sacrifice—their very life—those families are left behind with much grief and sorrow, and many times, without a provider.  Yes, their families make a sacrifice as well, a sacrifice that can have dire consequences on their well being.  

"We are here tonight to honor those who have fallen in service to this city by providing a way to support those left behind.  And indeed, what better way can we express our gratitude to them then by ensuring that their families are taken care of?  So, as you open your souls to the music presented tonight, I ask that you open your hearts as well, and contribute to this most important charity.  And now, without further adieu, I present Ms. Catherine Caldwell and the Denver Symphony Orchestra.  May you enjoy the show!"  Applause roared across the symphony hall as a tall, blond woman dressed in black crossed the stage to take the microphone.  She warmly shook the hand of the host, smiling brightly in the glare of the spot light.  "Thank you, Mr. Randolph!"

Paul Randolph kissed her lightly on the cheek and gave the audience one last smile and wave of his hand before he exited the stage.  Behind him, the conductor introduced the first piece of the program, an aria by Mozart.  Randolph took the towel handed to him by one of the stage hands and wiped the sweat from his brow before taking a drink of the cup of water waiting for him on a side table.  

"That was simply marvelous, Paul!" 

He looked up to find a distinguished older woman wearing a very flattering blue evening gown heading toward him, followed by a bemused man in a tuxedo.  He quickly set the cup back down and turned to greet his friends with a wide smile.

"I do am to please, Evie my dear." He took her hand and kissed it gently.  

A rough cough sounded behind him, and he rose up to grin at the lady's companion.  "Orrin!  You did make it, after all," he said to the gentleman as he shook his hand.

"Surprisingly, the board meeting finished on time for once," Orrin Travis greeted his old friend warmly.  

Evelyn Travis took her husband's arm and smiled up at him, a hint of mirth shining in her dark eyes.  "A true miracle, indeed, especially considering that it was a performance evaluation of the field teams," she quipped.

"I'm sure it wasn't all that bad.  After all, I've heard nothing but goods things about your boys, Orrin," Paul protested in good nature.

Travis snorted.  "I'm afraid your sources are not telling you the truth, my friend.  A greater pack of trouble magnets and misfits I've never seen the like!"

Evie swatted his arm gently. "Now, Orrin, that's not true.  Why, in the last six months alone, they've managed to cut the firearms traffic through our city by ten percent, not to mention bring down one of the largest crime lords in the state."  She turned to Randolph.  "They're up for a commendation for that."

"Yes," her husband broke in, "but they also received an official reprimand, as well, and the city is still clearing the rubble left behind from the fire that burned down half a city block in the warehouse district last month!"  He turned to his old friend with a mild look of distaste coloring his weathered features.  "And do you know what their explanation was? They said, and I quote, 'the city was planning to demolish that section of buildings, as it was, and were tied up in negotiations between contractors.  We did the city a favor by clearing those buildings, free of charge, and as such, the city should be compensating us'." He winced at the memory of that particular meeting with the team in question.

His head still ached at even the mention of the whole fiasco.

"Well, the city _was _going to tear those buildings down to make room for the new economic park planned for the area," his wife teased.

The judge raised his eyebrow at her in exasperation.  "Don't make excuses for them," he sighed.  "Sometimes I think I'm the assistant director of an elementary school instead of a Bureau of highly trained federal agents."  He raised his eyes toward the ceiling and shook his head ruefully.

"But unorthodox problems sometimes call for unorthodox solutions," Paul reminded him before reaching for his water cup to take another drink.

Orrin smiled at his friend in agreement.  "Yes, they do.  And when it comes to unorthodox methods, those boys are the best.  And I do have to admit, they get results.  They took down the entire Finnich cartel in two months, something the FBI had been trying to do for years."

Paul raised his eyebrows at the other man over the rim of his glass for confirmation and shook his head in wonder as he set the glass back down.  "Quite an accomplishment, especially for a team that has only been active for six months," he remarked with surprise.  "I'm impressed."

"Yes, it is.  I believe we can expect great things from those boys." Orrin agreed with a bit of pride.

At that moment, the music rose in crescendo, reminding them of where they were, and they glanced back at the stage behind them, a bit startled.  "Oh dear," Paul grimaced before turning back to his friends and smiling apologetically.  "You're here for the concert, and here I am tying you up backstage." He motioned toward the side exit.  "Go on.  Enjoy yourselves."

Evie gave the judge's arm a slight tug.  "Mary must be wondering where we are right now."  She looked back at her friend with a smile.  "That was a marvelous introduction, Paul.  Thank you for coming on such short notice."

Randolph gave her a slight bow.  "Anything for you, my dear.  But this wouldn't have happened without your efforts.  I should be applauding you!" he protested.

Orrin smiled down at his wife and patted her hand gently.  "She does have a wonderful talent for pulling these things off, doesn't she?"

Evie blushed and lifted a hand to her cheek in her embarrassment.  "Go on, you two.  And it wasn't as though I planned the whole thing on my own.  I just gave the suggestion, and the committee took things from there."

Orrin tightened his arm around her shoulders in a slight embrace.  "Yes, but who is the chair of the committee?" he chided her gently.

Paul laughed.  "Just accept the compliment for what it is, Evie."  He gently pushed them toward the door. "Now go on before you miss much more.  I do know how much you enjoy the symphony."

"Are you not going to be seated yourself?" Evie asked, pausing in the doorway and looking back at him with a questioning frown.

"I have a few things to take care of back here first.  But I will be out a little later, I promise you," he smiled in answer.

The judge reached around his wife and opened the door.  "Then we should stop monopolizing his time."  He turned back to his friend.  "Are we still on for racquetball Saturday?"

Paul's smile widened.  "I wouldn't miss it.  I still owe you for the last game!"

Travis laughed.  "You can try, my friend, you can try."  He lifted his hand in a wave before following his wife through the door.

Randolph smiled and returned the wave before pivoting to head for the control room but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.  He turned to face the stagehand and lifted an eyebrow in question.

"Mr. Randolph, sir?" the young man asked politely, "You have a telephone call." He motioned toward one of the dressing rooms.  "You can take it in there."

Paul frowned; then nodded his head at the boy before crossing to the room and entering.  He gently closed the door before reaching for the phone sitting on the vanity, not bothering to take a seat in the plush folding chair in front of him.  He lifted the receiver to his ear.  "Yes?" he said softly.

_"We have a problem," _the gravely voice on the other end uttered shortly.

Randolph immediately recognized the owner and his features twisted into an expression of extreme displeasure.  "You know better than to call me here!" He hissed sharply.  "Take care of it.  That's what I pay you for."

"_Yes sir, but this needs your_ personal _attention._  _Mr. Banning has been doctoring the books."_

He ran his hand down his face. "How much?"

_"I haven't had a chance to look through them thoroughly, but it looks like several thousand right now."_

"That little b*****d!  I can't afford this right now, not with the new supplier coming in next week," he growled and slammed a fist down on the vanity top hard enough to cause the mirror to rattle slightly.  "You're right.  I will take care of this myself."

_"What do you want me to do?"_

"I'll be there in an hour.  Hold Mr. Banning until I get there.  We'll sort this out then."  He made to lay the receiver down, but paused.  Oh, and Tony?" he said as an afterthought.

_"Yes sir?"_

"Feel free to show Mr. Banning what happens to those who cross me.  Just make sure that he is conscious and coherent for our little discussion."

_"Yes sir!"_ the voice on the other end said gleefully before breaking the connection.

Randolph smiled coldly and placed the phone receiver back on the hook before straightening his tie and exiting the room.  He found the stage manager in the control room, directing the lighting crew members, and tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention.  "Carlotta? I'm afraid an urgent business matter has come up that I must attend to immediately.  Will you give my regrets to Mrs. Travis for me?" he asked charmingly as he quickly slid back into his upright citizen persona, all traces of his anger well hidden from view.

"Oh sure, Mr. Randolph, I'll let her know.  It isn't bad news, is it, sir?" the young lady asked in concern.

He smiled at the Hispanic girl and patted her arm.  "Nothing I can't take care of.  Thank you, my dear."

She smiled back brightly before her attention was diverted by one of her assistants, giving the older man time to slip out of the room.  He pulled out his cell phone to call his chauffeur as he quickly and purposefully strode down the corridor and pushed through the exterior exit door, the smile dropping from his face to be replaced by a chillingly cold expression. "Harrison?  Meet me out front.  We have a business matter to attend to."

* * * * * * *

Antonio "Tony" Vitalis had literally grown up in the business of crime.  His father had been a pusher for years, as well as a small time arms fence in Phoenix, and Tony had learned the trade at his knees.  At the tender age of thirteen, he had hunted down and gutted the three gang members who brutally murdered his father, earning him instant fear and respect in the community.  He joined a local street gang soon thereafter and quickly rose through the ranks to become leader after the former one was killed in a drive by shooting by a rival gang.  Through his leadership, they won the ensuing gang war and viciously defeated their opponents to rule that area of the city for the next couple of years.  

At seventeen, he dropped out of high school to focus on his 'career' after receiving a job offer from one of the local mafia men.  Tony had a business head and natural leadership abilities, gaining him a reputation of efficiency and loyalty to friends, family, and employers.  He proved to be shrewd, calculating and quite efficacious, traits his employers found especially beneficial, and he quickly rose from lackey to body guard to advisor.   

When he suddenly found himself needing a new location after a nasty bit of business involving the now-deceased boyfriend of his little sister a few years later, Randolph, having met the man through a business connection, gave him an offer he couldn't refuse.  Tony found that he liked Denver, and he quickly proved to be a very valuable asset to Randolph.  As his holdings expanded, Randolph needed a foreman, so to speak, and gradually turned more and more control over to Tony.  Together, they took the criminal world by storm.  

As with any business, records of any transactions had to be kept and accounted for.  Tony was a great manager, but did not have the time or the expertise to be accountant as well and thus hired Chester Banning, a small-time manager of a seedy little bank in the poorer part of Denver, to do it for him.  Banning was a nervous, puny little man, with a receding hairline and thick glasses that only served to magnify his watery, beady eyes.  His wife of fifteen years had divorced him because of his gambling troubles, and took him for everything he had, leaving the man nothing but his clothes and several thousand dollars in debt, not to mention a ridiculous alimony, while she ran off to New York with her lawyer.  

Banning found himself caught between a rock and a hard place, as he also owed several local bookies a couple of thousand apiece, so he had jumped at the chance to make more money on the side and willingly turned a blind eye to the shadier dealings of the organization he worked for.  He dealt directly with Tony, and knew of no one else in the 'company'.  He was smart enough to realize that Tony answered to someone else, but frankly, he was afraid to even speculate who that might be.  

The arrangement he made with Tony worked well for a few years until he had found himself in a bind and needing a little more money.  He carefully skimmed it from Vitalis's accounts, and when he wasn't found out, gradually became a little bolder, took a little more money.  But as it always does, the inevitable eventually happened, and he was caught.

Tony sat on the edge of the desk in the small, cluttered office of the old airplane hangar, cleaning his fingernails with the rather large switchblade he carried on him at all times.  Chester Banning sat tied to a chair in front of him, his head drooping to his chest and his eyes squeezed shut from the pain of the bruises and knife cuts on his person.  He was frantically trying to come up with a way to get out of this predicament, all the while wondering how he ever thought he'd get away with embezzling money from a criminal lord.  

The noise of the unloading several crates of armaments from the back of an eighteen wheeler could easily be heard through the thin walls, providing a bit of distraction from the tense silence.  The office itself was small, windowless, and filthy, with grimy walls and grungy floors, and a drop ceiling missing several tiles.  An old, battered, metal desk occupied the center of the room, and the walls were lined with boxes and filing cabinets.  A tall, metal storage cabinet filled the far wall, one of its doors hanging open and slightly crooked. 

The hangar itself was not in much better shape, but that didn't really matter since this was only temporary storage.  Tony's people would be by later in the morning to take the shipment to their permanent location outside of the city.  It had been a last minute change brought about by the seller, but Tony didn't mind too much.  One could never be too careful nowadays, especially with the new ATF teams prowling the city.  But he didn't really worry about the ATF, despite the rumors about one team in particular.  They just presented a challenge, made things more interesting for him, instead of being a true threat.  

He had been beating the feds at their own game for years now; what was one more bunch of them?

He slid off the desk as he heard the large exterior door open and walked to the office doorway to make sure it was who he thought.  He grinned back down at Banning, his white teeth a gleaming contrast to his tanned skin and dark hair.  "Now we settle this," he sneered, taking great pleasure in the obvious fear that radiated from the captive man.

He stood back as the door opened to admit the tall, silver haired form of Paul Randolph.  "Mr. Banning," he said, "meet Mr. Randolph, our boss."

Banning went sheet white and his eyes bugged out as he recognized the smartly dressed man in front of him.  "M-m-mr. Randolph?  Mr. Paul Randolph?" he squeaked.

Randolph merely gave the man a cold once over before quickly scanning the office, his features drawing into an expression of distaste.  He turned back to his lieutenant, his displeasure clearly shining in his icy blue eyes.  "Was nothing better available for this delivery?  I understand that you would prefer to do business in neutral territory, Tony, but I do not want to give our business associates a poor impression of our holdings.  It could lead to trouble in the future."

Tony nodded respectfully.  "Yes sir, I know that, but we had to change the location at the last minute, and this place is really safer than most.  There's not a place for the feds to hide for a hundreds yards all around and the power station next door provides interference for surveillance equipment.  And this delivery is with someone we've dealt with for years."

Randolph focused back on him.  "And the reason for the change?"

"Donnell's the one who asked for it.  He's been spooked by that new ATF team, and keeps seeing feds around every corner.  He would have backed out of the deal otherwise," Tony shrugged an apology.

Randolph's eyes narrowed.  "Travis's new team.  I have heard that they are very proficient.  Do you think they will be a problem?"

His lackey shook his head.  "Nah, they've just been lucky so far.  I can handle them.  And if they do interfere," he flicked his knife out with a snap, "I'll take care of them," he grinned malevolently, his eyes glittering with determination.

Randolph waved his hand in dismissal.  "Yes, yes, I'm sure you will.  Now to the business at hand.  Show me the books."

Tony picked up a briefcase that had been sitting at his feet and opened it on the desk, pulling out two ledgers from inside.  He opened both of them on the desk's surface, one above the other for easy comparison.  "This is the one that I had," he pointed to the lower one, "and the other is the one I found in Banning's office safe.  Both of these are tallies for the shipment we took in last month.  The numbers he showed me say that we paid out fifteen grand for it, and made a little over twenty-two grand in profit.  However, this book," he motioned to the upper one, "says that the actual profit was closer to twenty-three grand, making us about a thousand short."

Randolph examined the two books closely, flipping back several sheets. "What tipped you off?"

"That sell of weapons we made to the IRA in December.  I knew those rifles were worth fifty grand easily by themselves, not to mention the grenades and the explosives, but the profit from the sales was only about fifty-five grand.  I talked to some people, found that my numbers didn't agree with theirs, and I got to wondering why.  Asked him about it, and got some double-talk, which started making me curious.  So I did a little research and found some interesting information." Tony pulled a sheaf of papers out of the briefcase.  "These are the deposit statements for a few bank accounts across the city.  This one is registered to a Mr. Charles Billings, this one to a Clarence Baldwin, and this one to a Clay Brentwood.  All three accounts had large deposits made on the fifteenth, the same day as the sale.  When I totaled the deposit amount, it came to about three grand, which just happened to be the exact amount we were short by.  It took some work, but I traced those accounts back to one Chester Banning.  Got to looking deeper, and found that all three accounts were opened around July, and have had several deposits all coinciding with the dates of the last four big transactions.  The total amount always tallies up to the same amount we were missing."  He shook his head at Banning.  "You should have covered your tracks better than that."

Randolph rifled through the bank statements, his expression neutral.  He finally looked up at Banning, who was sweating profusely.  "Your explanation?" he asked mildly, fixing the man with a deceivingly bland stare.

"Well, you-you see, Mr. Randolph, s-sir, I needed some money to p-pay off a debt to Little Monty, my bookie. H-he wanted his money and threatened t-to break my legs.  I only borrowed a little, and I-I was going to pay it back, I swear!"  Banning squeaked, his voice pitched high in his desperation to be believed.

"I'm sure you were," Randolph placated the little man with a belittling tone as he laid the papers on the desk and leaned back against it with crossed arms.  He raised an eyebrow at Tony, who nodded in agreement.  

"Yeah," the thug verified, "that part of his story checks out.  He was moving the money into the accounts of several bookies across the city."

Randolph tsked and shook his head.  "Terrible habit, my friend.  Gambling leads to all kinds of trouble.  You really should get some help."

"Yeah, join Gambler's anonymous or something," Tony agreed with a smirk.

"Then d-does that mean you're g-going to let me go?" Banning turned his wide eyes from Tony's malicious gaze to Randolph's disimpassioned face, hope filling his pallid, sunken features.

Randolph settled himself more firmly on the worn surface and propped his right elbow in his hand, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  "Well, now.  You did steal from me, and I don't take kindly to thieves, Mr. Banning.  I do believe some sort of punishment is merited.  What do you think, Tony?"

Tony walked around behind the chair, flicking his knife open and closed all the while, before he stopped behind the man and leaned down to breath in his ear.  "Yes, sir.  We can't give our other employees the wrong impression about us—makes for bad PR."  He grinned as Banning jerked around to meet his glittering black eyes, the man's own filling with horror before he twisted back toward the older man with a beseeching expression.

Randolph rested his arm on his leg and leaned the other arm across it as he studied the little man.  "Indeed.  In this line of business, to appear soft is a death warrant.  I can't afford to lose face, you understand, especially with this new venture I'm trying to set up overseas.  Therefore, punishment must be meted out and must be equal to the crime.  What do you think I should do, Mr. Banning?" he asked calmly.

Banning licked his lips and swallowed harshly while glancing wildly around the room.  "I-I don't know," he stated nervously.  "I-I don't have much to offer, lost it all in t-the divorce.  Don't own my house, and my c-car is old.  B-but I know I could come up with something.  Maybe borrow it from the b-bank?"

Randolph shook his head.  "Now that would be robbing Peter to pay Paul, and you would still be in a bind.  Besides, that just wouldn't set the example I need.  I must give an appropriate warning to others that I am not to be trifled with.  Tony, do you have any ideas?"

"We could give him a visible reminder, like maybe a nice, deep cut." The thug grabbed the accountant's hair suddenly and jerked his head back.  He flipped his switchblade out and pressed it beside Banning's right eye, drawing a thin line of blood.

Banning trembled and whimpered in terror as all blood left his face.  Tony flicked the knife closed and pushed Banning's head forward, then walked around in front of him and picked up a lead pipe that was laying on the floor, tapping it against the small man's leg.  "Or we could break his legs."

"P-please, n-no!  I'll do anything!  Anything you want!  Just please don't hurt me!" Banning begged, jerking his leg as far away from the pipe as he could while looking from Randolph to Tony with wide, imploring eyes.

"Don't hurt you?"  Randolph raised an eyebrow at the quaking man before him.  "But you have greatly hurt me.  You were more afraid of a small-time bookie than you were of me.  Do you realize what damage that will do to my reputation if this gets out?"

"I'm s-sorry.  I won't do it again.  I-I'll pay you back, I swear!  Please, just give me a chance," the bank manager pleaded desperately.

Randolph studied the man for a moment before lifting his eyes to meet the gaze of his foreman.  He nodded in decision and motioned for Tony to free the man.  "Cut him loose."

Banning hiccupped and closed his eyes in relief as he felt the ropes fall away.  Rubbing at his wrists distractedly, he looked up at Randolph with gratitude shining in his eyes.  "You won't be sorry, sir.  I won't let you down again!"

The crime lord stood and smoothed his jacket front before raising his cold, feral eyes to meet those of the timid mouse of a man before him.  "No, you won't."  He looked toward Tony and turned away with an air of finality.

Banning's breath caught in his throat as he suddenly caught the layered meaning of those words and he spun around in his chair to see the large thug pull a gun from the shoulder holster under his leather jacket and aim it between his eyes.  "Mr. Randolph?  Please, don't do this!  Please!" he screeched.

A single gunshot roared through the night, causing the men in the hangar to pause in their work and look at each other warily before returning to their tasks.  Inside the office, Randolph pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed lightly at a few dark stains on his sleeve while Tony replaced his gun in its holster and nudged the body in the floor with his foot in distaste.  Randolph gathered the papers and placed them in the briefcase, then casually flipped through Banning's ledger, taking a closer look at the figures he had glanced at previously.  He sighed.  "I am disappointed in you, Tony," he said without turning around, his censor clearly heard in his tone of voice.

The thug shrugged an apology.  "I'm sorry, sir.  I know I should have caught onto him sooner, but what with the increase in sales this winter, and the need for tighter security with the new feds out there, I was stretched pretty thin."

The older man turned to face him.  "We can't afford mistakes like this.  This is a cutthroat business.  When my associates get word of this, they may get the wrong ideas."  He stared at his manager piercingly until the other man turned away in contrite.  He placed the ledger back into the briefcase with the other.  "How are the negotiations going with the new supplier?" he asked as he shut the case, effectively changing the subject.

"They are going very well.  He was impressed with our record and with our merchandise.  He is definitely interested in doing business with us.  He'll be here next week to look over our operation.  If he likes what he sees, then he said he would seal the deal." Tony answered.

"Good, good.  This deal means a lot to me, Tony.  It would prove to be very lucrative and advantageous to both of us.  I have wanted to break into the European market for a while now, and he has wanted an outlet on the west coast.  Hammings is a big deal in Europe.  To be aligned with him would gain us much influence and power.  I will not allow anything to mess this up," Randolph warned. 

Tony shifted uneasily.  "I understand, sir.  This incident won't happen again."

His employer nodded.  "See that it doesn't."  He drummed his fingers on the briefcase; then sighed.  "I suppose we'll need a new accountant, now, especially before the meeting with Hammings.  It is going to be troublesome to find someone dependable on such short notice." He pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"Maybe not, sir," Tony spoke up.  "We have a new guy working for us, Miles Walker.  He helped me out in this incident.  He's good, sir, real good.  He's a whiz at accounting."

Randolph looked up at him sharply as he dropped his hand to rest lightly on the case.  "How long has he been working for us, and is he trustworthy?  I do not want a repeat of this matter."

Tony flinched slightly at the thinly-veiled reprimand but continued on.  "He's been with us for about a month.  He's good.  He's originally from Miami, got his degree down there, worked for some big company until he got caught covering up for his employers.  Lost his license and spent a couple of months in prison.  He got out and headed out here looking for a new start.  He was working for Carnelli when I met up with him."

Randolph tapped his finger against his lips thoughtfully.  "Carnelli?  That's the pawnshop owner over on 5th and Carver?"  Tony nodded.  "He recommended this man?"

Tony again nodded.  "Yes, sir.  We've been doing business with Carnelli for years.  When I told him about my suspicions about Banning here, Carnelli sent me this guy."

"And you said this man knows his work and knows how to be, shall we say, _discrete_?"

"Definitely.  He's a regular wizard with a computer and financial documents.  The only reason he got caught in Miami is because his boss turned him in to save his own hide."

Randolph nodded.  "When can we get him in here?"

Tony smiled.  "He's already here.  I had him oversee this shipment while we took care of this business."

Randolph returned the smile and motioned for the door.  "Well, then.  Let's go meet Mr. Walker."  

Tony opened the door and they stepped out of the room, paying no heed to the body on the floor.

* * * * * * *

A few seconds passed after they left before the crooked door on the storage cabinet slowly eased open.  The girl hiding inside peered cautiously out from the murky depths; then pushed the door open wide enough to slip through.  She pointedly avoided looking at the body and the growing puddle of blood on the floor, her stomach unsettled and her face pale from the shock of what she had witnessed.

She had been looking for a warm place to spend the night out of the cold rain and had slipped into the building by way of an old forgotten window in the back in the early hours of the evening.  When Tony and his men had entered the building, she had quickly ducked into the office to avoid discovery, trying to find a back exit.  She had hidden in the cabinet when Tony dragged Banning into the office, tied him to the chair, and called his boss.  Trapped in the cabinet, she was an unwilling bystander to the following beating and torture of the man and the meeting with Randolph.  She had hunkered down in the far corner of the dark space, having a clear view of the desk and the drama unfolding beyond, praying all the while that she did nothing to reveal herself.  She had been horrified when she realized what she was about to witness, but knew there was nothing she could do that would not result in her own death.  She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and had bitten down on her finger when Tony pulled the gun.  She jerked with the shot, but had not given herself away.  She sat trembling in the dark, trying to distance herself from what had just happened and waiting for them to leave so she could make her escape.

She pulled her scruffy backpack from the floor of the cabinet and crept to the office door, peaking out into the main room at the group of men a scant fifty feet away.  Shadows lingered in the corners, and she realized that this would probably be her only chance to escape without detection.  She looked back into the room, catching sight of the body and quickly pulling her gaze up as her stomach again rolled rebelliously.  "Not now!  Get control of yourself, Ally.  Get out of here first—then you can fall apart!" she commanded herself angrily.  She once more looked around the room, hoping that an alternate exit would magically appear and sighed when none presented itself.  "Front door it is, then," she muttered.  Her gaze fell on the briefcase laying on the desk, and on impulse, she grabbed it up.  "I may not have been able to stop this," she whispered to herself, "but I _can_ do something to make sure they pay for it!"

She moved to the door and took one more peak out before hitching her bag higher up on her shoulder.  "Here we go," she muttered and slipped out into the main room.  She was almost to the exit when the shouts from the group of men caused her to spin around in surprise.  When she realized what was about to happen, she frantically looked around for something, anything she could use as a distraction.  She spied a pile of oily rags and several old jugs and tools lying beside an old broken down cart across from her, while a ladder leading to a low hanging catwalk that stretched across the room lined the wall nearby.  She picked up a jug and smelled the contents, then eyed the catwalk, a hazy plan forming in the back of her mind.  She stashed the briefcase and her bag underneath the cart, grabbed a couple of rags, and began to climb the ladder.  "I am _not_ going to witness another murder tonight!" she vowed fiercely as she stepped onto the catwalk.  She stuffed a rag into the top of the jug and fished in her pocket for a book of matches.  With her cocktail in hand, she strode determinedly toward the scene unfolding beneath her.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

two guesses as to who Miles Walker is! ***grins***

Yes, this is my OFC.  Again, she is _not_ a Mary Sue!  If at any point she seems to be leaning toward that, please, by all means let me know and I will change it!

PLEASE REVIEW—as I said before, I really need the encouragement to keep going (fragile ego and all that), but

PLEASE DON'T FLAME—if you don't like OFCs or this story in general, then just don't read it!  Don't bash me because we simply have different tastes!

I hope you enjoy this crazy ride! :)


	2. An Explosive Situation

CHAPTER 2 

The man known as Miles Walker stood at the back of the trailer, clipboard in hand, as the last of the crates were lifted to the ground. His cool green eyes scanned the hangar for the hundredth time that night, cataloguing sights and sounds and faces to be recalled later. He pointedly tried to ignore what was going on in the office, silently praying that what he knew was about to happen didn't occur.  He was sickened by the thoughts of the small part that he played in it and the fact that he could do nothing to stop it, but sternly reminded himself it was not his actions that led to this—it was Banning's and he was not responsible in any way. Of course, that wouldn't stop this night from haunting his dreams.  

He sighed inwardly.  There were aspects of this job that truly weighed a man down.

Outwardly, he remained cool and detached, looking slightly bored and focused on his current assignment instead of the closed office door.  He knew that Tony answered to someone else, and assumed that was who he was waiting for. He had hoped for a look at this person, but had been inside the trailer when they arrived.  When the shot echoed across the hangar floor, he shut his eyes momentarily, a grim look stealing across his face, but he quickly smoothed it away and ordered the men back to work.  

A few minutes later, he was slightly startled to hear his name called out, and looked up in surprise. "Yes, Mr. Vita—" His words died in his throat as he recognized the figures coming toward him.  The blood drained from his face and his heart froze as he found himself staring into the startled, wide blue eyes of Paul Randolph.  He muttered a quick curse.

His cover had just been blown to smithereens!

His mind was flying, trying desperately to find a way out of his current predicament with his hide intact.  "Why, Mr. Randolph.  Fancy meeting you here," he drawled.  He dropped the clipboard to the ground and held his arms slightly away from his side, a sardonic smile curling on his lips.  

"Standish!" Randolph exclaimed hoarsely in shock.  Travis had introduced him to his new team back in August at the initiation ceremony held to officially swear in the newest members of the Denver law enforcement community, and he instantly recognized the man before him.  He whirled around and grabbed Tony's shirtfront.  "You idiot!" he yelled.  "That is no small time hood!  That is Ezra Standish!  He's one of Travis's men, you fool!"

Tony stumbled back out of his boss's grasp in surprise.  "W-hat?" he stammered.  

Randolph rubbed his forehead distractedly; then turned back to his lieutenant.  "He's a fed!  He's a ***d**n fed!  And you let him waltz right in here!  You said you had it covered!" he shouted.

"I did!" Tony shouted back.  "He checked out, I swear he did!  Carnelli vouched for him!"

"Well, somebody messed up, because there he is!"  Randolph paced back and forth for a few moments before finally getting control of himself.  He stalked up to Ezra.  "How much do you know?" he demanded.

Ezra stared back at him passively and shrugged.  "I know many things.  I attended some of the finest schools in Europe during my youth and have a MBA from Harvard.  What do you want to know?" he asked mildly.

Randolph's hand whipped up with lightening speed and he slapped Ezra hard across the mouth with enough force to nearly knock him off of his feet.  "I'm asking about my business," he growled.

Ezra reached up and tentatively dabbed at the corner of his mouth, frowning at the blood that marred his finger tips.  He gazed dispassionately at the man in front of him.  "What does it matter?  You are going to kill me anyway," he returned; then winced.  '_That's it, Ezra.  Antagonize the man who holds your life in his hands_,' He cursed himself silently.

Randolph turned back to Tony.  "Send some men out to look around.  Make sure that no one else is here." he ordered.  He turned back to the men standing in a loose circle around them, their guns drawn and pointed at the undercover agent.  He motioned to the two nearest the agent.  "Bring him into the office," he commanded as he stalked into the room himself, not looking back to see if he had been obeyed.  

One of the big thugs grabbed Ezra's arm in a bruising grip and half-dragged him into the office, Ezra's protests echoing loudly across the space behind them.  As they entered the office, he jerked his arm away.  "Unhand me, you ignoramus!"  He growled, straightening his jacket in annoyance.  He saw the body of Banning lying in a pool of blood and grimaced slightly before pulling his gaze up to glare icily at Randolph.  "You, Sir, are surrounded by barbarians."

Randolph's eyes narrowed but he ignored the comment and instead glared at the thug behind the agent.  "Search him," he barked.  The man handed his rifle to the other guard behind him, then slammed Ezra against the wall hard enough to cause his head to bounce off the drywall and used his foot to force him to spread his legs out and lean against the wall on his hands.  

He proceeded to pat him down, pulling a pistol from his shoulder holster and a Sig from the small of his back.  He also found the small gun in the ankle holster, much to Ezra's disgust. He laid the firearms on the desk, then jerked Ezra's jacket off before he shoved the man into the empty chair brutally, almost tipping him onto the floor.  "Was that necessary?" Ezra snapped as he barely regained his balance and rubbed his arms gingerly while glaring up at the man.  

The guard just shrugged as he began slicing up the seams with a knife in search of wires before dropping the remains into the dark puddle on the floor.  Ezra shook his head as he watched yet another fine article of clothing come to an untimely end.  _'The things I sacrifice in the line of duty,'_ he thought in disgust.  The thug pulled the agent's head forward and felt along the collar of his shirt, then ripped said shirt open to the waist.  "Hey!" Ezra yelped in protest as buttons flew in all directions.  "This is a $100 Moschino shirt you're abusing!"

The man ignored him and reached down to pull the undershirt up to make sure that no wires were missed.  Ezra jerked the shirt down out of his grasp.  "I'd thank you to TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF of my person!"  he snapped indignantly. 

"He's clean, sir," the guard stood back and addressed his employer respectfully, taking his gun from the man beside him and aiming it point blank at the back of his captive's head.  

Ezra glowered at him as he straightened the collar of his shirt and rebuttoned the remaining buttons on the front, very aware of the gun barrel inches from the side of his head, but paying it little attention, focusing instead on his surroundings.  He knew they wouldn't find any surveillance equipment on him, just as he knew they wouldn't find anyone outside.  He was on his own in this one.  '_As always_,' he thought wryly.

'_Now that's not being fair_,' another voice in his head argued back, sounding suspiciously like Josiah.  '_Chris has had someone on watch whenever he could.  The change in plans tonight didn't give him enough time to set something up._'  

Ezra was forced to concede that point, but then another voice spoke up.  '_Yes, but if he truly valued your personal well-being, he would have found a way.  You are just an expendable commodity_,'—this voice sounded very much like his mother. 

 He snorted to himself.  '_Oh, wonderful.__  My cover has been compromised, I'm literally up to my neck in s**t, for lack of a better term at this moment, and about to be liquidated, and here I sit having a mental argument with Josiah and Maude in my head, like the proverbial angel and devil shown in animated television_.'  An absurd picture of Josiah in a white robe with a harp and a glowing halo about his head, and his mother dressed in a skintight red leather jumpsuit with a long forked tail and holding a long red pitchfork flashed across his mind, and he rolled his eyes at himself.  '_Well, that certainly proves it.  My teammates have driven me completely and unutterably insane!_'

His attention was drawn back to his current predicament when Tony entered the room.  "There is no one there, sir," he reported submissively before taking a place beside the open door.

Randolph ran a hand down his face before turning back to Ezra.  "Now, what do we do with you?" he asked as he finally calmed himself down and leaned back on the desk with crossed arms.

"Let me go?" Ezra suggested hopefully.

Randolph shook his head.  "No, I'm afraid that wouldn't be prudent.  You know too much.  I can't have you reporting back to Travis, now can I?"

Ezra smiled up at him pleasantly, his gold tooth catching the fluorescent light above.  "Ah, but what if I pledged to keep all knowledge of your more nefarious activities to myself?"

Randolph laughed.  "Promise not to tell?  And what would that cost me?"

Ezra cocked his head and tapped his lips with his forefinger, a thoughtful expression on his face.  "Oh, no more than twenty thousand, deposited in my personal Swiss bank account.  And maybe a new mode of transportation.  The mileage on my jag is becoming rather high."  He smiled up at the man brightly.

Randolph raised an eyebrow then chuckled again.  "I had heard the rumor that you could be bought.  Though I believe the amount I heard you took in Atlanta was thirty grand."

"A discount, I assure you." Ezra remained nonchalant outwardly, but inside he flinched at the implication.  _Would he ever be able to escape his past? _he wondered a bit morosely. 

 The crime lord slipped his hands into his front pockets and eyed him thoughtfully.  "Being a close, personal friend of the assistant director of the ATF does have its advantages. I know he has a special interest in your team, had Larabee in mind when he hatched his plan.  I also know that he was very concerned when Larabee wanted to add you to the team, especially when he saw your records and heard about the rather nasty business in Atlanta.  One can't help but wondering if there were any truth to the stories, even if no substantial evidence was ever found.  After all, all legends are started with some grain of truth, aren't they?"  

Ezra only shrugged.  "I suppose so," he replied.

Randolph continued to regard him with some amusement.  "The stories about you say that you are a maverick, that you hold allegiance to no one, that you are an arrogant, pompous, insubordinate b*****d who would sell out his own mother if the price was right.  I have to admit, it does make me wonder what Larabee ever saw in you."

"You and me both, dear sir," Ezra agreed as he sat back in the chair and crossed his ankles, folding his hands over his stomach.  He presented the man before him with one of his infuriatingly insolent smiles.  "I suppose it just gives ample evidence that Larabee is a bigger fool than he appears."  His smile widened.  "So, do we have a deal?"

Randolph burst out laughing.  "You really are a pretentious son of a b***h aren't you?"  He pulled a white silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the corner of his eye, then held it at his lips as he regarded the agent before him intently.  "I think not," he said slowly, putting the handkerchief away and pushing himself up from the desk to walk around Ezra's chair.  "There is something about you that worries me."  

He stopped directly in front of the smaller man, the mirth dropping from his eyes to be replaced by a glint that was decidedly chilling.  "You are not who you seem to be, Mr. Standish, and I am not willing to chance betrayal.  I would prefer to behead the snake and make sure that it cannot come back to bite me when my back is turned.  I have too much at stake."  He turned to his lieutenant.  "This is your mess, Tony, and you will clean it up.  Take care of Mr. 'Walker' and dispose of the bodies somewhere out of the way.  Preferably somewhere that will not get back to me."  He favored the man with a piercing stare, a frown of disproval marring his stately features.

Tony averted his gaze.  "Yes sir, I won't let you down again."

"See that you don't.  I will not tolerate mistakes, Tony.  You have been warned."  Randolph glanced at his watch.  "I must be getting home.  I'll take the ledgers with me.  Come to the house when you are finished here," he commanded.

"Yes, sir."  Tony motioned for the two guards to pick up the late accountant's body while he grabbed Standish's arm and pulled him to his feet, pressing his gun to his ribs.  "Let's go for a ride, shall we?"  He began dragging the agent toward the door, pausing as the two thugs manhandled the body through the opening.

Ezra glanced down at the gun digging into his ribs and licked his lips, his mouth dry.  "I'd rather not," he drawled, frantically trying to think of a method of escape as he scanned the room once again, vainly looking for anything that he could use.

Randolph turned to pick up the forgotten briefcase from the desk and froze with his hand in midair when he noticed it was gone.  "Tony?  What happened to the ledgers?" he asked sharply.

Tony turned back in confusion, slightly averting the gun from Ezra's side as he did so.  "What?"

Suddenly, the room was rocked by a loud explosion just outside the door.  A few ceiling tiles fell with a crash, and a shelf toppled over, sending it contents to the floor as smoke billowed into the room.  Randolph ducked down beside the desk in surprise, while Tony and Ezra both stumbled backwards from the doorway.  "What the—" Tony coughed.

Ezra didn't have time to wonder what had happened—he just sent a quick prayer of thanks skyward and took full advantage of it.  In the instant after the explosion, he was jerking his arm out of the larger man's grip while spinning him into the wall with the other arm.  Tony slammed face first into the hard surface with a surprised grunt.  Ezra pressed his advantage and whirled into a roundhouse kick to the head that his old sensei would have been proud of.  

The thug collapsed to the floor in a heap.  

Ezra quickly pulled the gun out of his grasp and slipped out the door.  Randolph looked up in time to see him disappear into the smoky exterior and stumbled to the opening, his eyes watering and his chest heaving.  "He's getting away!" he screamed at the scattered men outside.

Chaos reined in the hangar as men scrambled to contain the blaze.  After pitching her homemade bomb at the office door, Ally had taken off back across the catwalk in the direction that she had come.  One man noticed movement above him and shouted a startled" hey you!" before letting loose with a spray of bullets from his assault rifle.  The girl jerked as bullets pinged around her and without second thought, vaulted over the side.  She dropped two stories to land in a graceful tuck and roll in the aisle below.  She was instantly on her feet, running flat out and weaving around the various crates standing in her path.  Several men took off in chase, firing wildly at her.

Ezra didn't notice any of this, as the hangar was still smoky and he was too intent on his own survival.  He eased his way down an aisle, listening careful for sounds of pursuit.  He peaked around the corner, then quietly slipped up behind the man standing with his back to him and slammed his gun butt onto the man's head.

The man slid bonelessly to the floor.  

Ezra dropped to one knee, holding his confiscated gun up while he rifled through the man's pockets with his other hand in search of more ammunition.  He heard a noise behind him and spun around to find another thug grinning down on him with a large semi-automatic pointed at his head.  Ezra stood up slowly and lifted his arms into the air, holding the pistol upside down in his hand in a non-threatening position.  "I don't suppose we could negotiate this?" he asked hopefully.

The man's evil smile grew wider and he shook his head no as he raised the gun to point it directly between Ezra's eyes.  Ezra's breath caught in his throat as he stared down the black barrel of the gun before looking into his soon-to-be assassin's gleaming eyes.  The man slowly began to pull back the trigger—then inexplicably stopped suddenly before his eyes widened in confusion and rolled up in the back of his head.  He dropped to the floor with a thud.  

Standing over him was the girl, breathing hard, a large pipe in her hand.  She looked up at Ezra.  "Come on!  This way!" she motioned for him to follow her then took off back the way she had come, dropping the pipe as she went.

Ezra stared at her in shock for a moment, trying to figure out just where the h**l she had come from, but nearby shouts broke him from his reverie.  He stepped over the fallen man with barely a glance at the hulk and sprinted down the aisle behind her.  

His first priority was to get out of the building alive—he could figure out that mystery later.  

They crept away from the loading dock, sticking to the shadows as they eased silently through the aisles, like ghosts.  They came to a wide open area and paused a moment to catch their breath and clear the smoke from their lungs.  The exit beckoned them enticingly from across the expanse, but little cover lay between them and it.  The girl looked up at Ezra and raised an eyebrow—he responded with a slight shrug.  She took a deep breath and started across, Ezra hot on her heels.  Unfortunately, one of the gunmen turned at the same moment and spotted them.  "There they are!" he yelled as he opened up his weapon. 

 Ezra and the girl dove in opposite directions, and he hit the ground in a roll, coming to his feet in one quick movement and sliding behind a crate.  He fired a couple of shots back towards the gunman, while trying to see where the girl had gotten to, but was distracted by another storm of bullets ricocheting around him.  He cringed down beside the crate as large splinters and chunks of wood rained down on him.  He quickly jumped up and fired a few more rounds before sliding back down in his position.  He checked the rounds left in his gun and grimaced as he found three bullets in the clip.  "Frying pan into the fire," he muttered to himself as he peaked around the corner of the box.  Seeing an opening, he jumped to his feet and sprinted across to the next crate a few yards away, diving down behind it just as a hail of bullets filled the air space he had occupied seconds before.

Tony stumbled out of the office with his boss on his heels.  "What the h**l happened out here?" he yelled as he rubbed his head gingerly.

"Some kid threw a firebomb from the catwalk, sir!" the gunman who had raised the alarm answered smartly.

"A kid?  Where the h**l did a kid come from?"  Tony asked in disbelief, his hand dropping to his side.  

Randolph grabbed his arm and spun him around to face him.  "You said the place was clear!  First Banning, then Standish, and now this?!  You are becoming frighteningly slipshod, Vitalis!" he growled menacingly.

"I'll take care of it!"  Tony snapped back, jerking his arm out of the other man's hold.

A shout directed their attention to where Ezra and the girl had been spotted. He watched as his men fired continuously at the area, and stalked in that direction to take command. 

Ezra crouched down in his hiding spot, running through his limited options mentally.  A strange smell penetrated his thoughts, and he sniffed the air suspiciously, a feeling of dread creeping up his spine at the alarmingly familiar scent.  He looked up at the wall behind him and his heart plummeted into his stomach as he realized what the pipes running the length of the surface carried. A slight hissing sound and the strong odor indicated that said pipes were leaking. "Oh l**d," he breathed as he scrambled away from them as quickly as possible.

As Tony reached his men, another shout of "There he goes!" directed his attention to the far wall, even as the gunmen again began spraying the area with bullets.  His eyes widened as he caught sight of the gas lines and meter.  "Stop!" he screamed, but he was too late.  

A large explosion ripped through the building as the bullets tore into the pipes, igniting the natural gas inside.

A wall of heat knocked Tony and his men to the floor as flames began racing across the floor.  Tony sat up groggily, surrounded by groaning and scorched men.  He stumbled to his feet as the fire quickly grew in intensity and smoke filled the building.  Though the protective measures put in place on the gas line kicked in instantly, cutting off the gas feed, the fire had already taken hold of the old, brittle wooden framing of the building and the debris lying on the floor and stacked along the walls, the flames consuming anything in their path.  He glanced toward the crates that had just been unloaded that evening, and fear froze his veins as he saw the flames surrounding them, slowly advancing toward them.  He turned and raced back to his boss, shouting at his men to get out.  Randolph climbed to his feet as Tony reached him.  "Where is he?" he shouted furiously.  "Get Standish!"

"We don't have time for that!" Tony shouted back.  "The fire is headed toward the shipment!  There's gunpowder and explosives in those crates!  We have to get out of here before this whole place is blown to bits!"

Randolph looked back toward the crates and cursed in fear. He and Tony began running for the only clear exit across the building, their men stumbling after them and the fire closing in from all sides.

The ball of heat knocked into Ezra even as he dove across a pile of old pipes and boards, and he literally flew across the heap and slammed into the wall beyond.  He lay on his stomach on the floor in a daze for a few moments, the breath knocked out of him.  He felt hands turning him onto his side, and he looked up into the clear and watering blue eyes of the girl.  "Get up!  We have to get out of here now!" she wheezed as she helped him to his feet and pulled him further into the hangar and away from where the others had ran.  

He balked, pulling in the opposite direction. "The exit's this way!" he shouted over the roar of the flames.  

"It's blocked by the fire!" she yelled back.  "There's another way out this way!  Trust me!"

Ezra looked into her eyes for a moment and was drawn by the intensity he saw there.  He then glanced back at the fire and saw the crates of ammunition in its path and quickly scrambled after her.  He followed her through the shadows, even as the fire grew behind them.  Just when he was about to protest again, He saw it—an old window about twenty feet in front of them. The glass had long been broken out and the opening boarded over, but he could see that some of the boards had been recently pried loose. He raced up to it and quickly knocked the remaining covering to the ground outside before boosting himself into the opening and dropping to the ground below. 

 He immediately turned back around to help the girl through—but she wasn't there.  He stuck his head back in the window to spot her on her knees beside an old cart several feet away, trying to reach something underneath.  "Come on!" he shouted.

"Just a minute!" she poked her tongue out the side of her mouth as she continued to grope underneath the cart.  She hadn't thought she had pushed them so far back!

"We don't have a minute!  When the fire reaches those crates this whole place is going to blow!" Ezra yelled back furiously.

Just as he was preparing to re-enter the building after her, she pulled a black backpack and a battered briefcase out and leaped to her feet.  He stood back as she tossed them both out the window and scrambled after them.  She scooped them up and raced toward a small opening in the fence across the muddy parking lot, Ezra hot on her heels.  She slid through the hole; then held the fencing back as Ezra slipped through after her, and together they ran for the next building beyond.  Just as they turned the corner, a huge explosion rocked the ground and they stumbled a bit from the concussion but quickly regained their footing and continued to flee from the bedlam behind them.  

She led him through the darkened streets, following a twisting, convoluted path through the seeder parts of the city in their bid for escape.  As they ran, the heavens opened, and the clouds that had been threatening all day again unleashed their bounty in the form of a steady, cold rain that quickly had them both drenched. Ezra had no idea where they were, and followed blindly without thought, trusting her to get them to safety.  

Finally, they reached an old storm culvert in the suburbs of the city and stopped to get their breath.  Ezra bent over, his hands on his knees as he gasped for air, his breath crystallizing into white puffs in the cold surroundings, while the girl leaned back against the wall and wiped a long, wet strand of hair from her face.  

After a few moments, she peaked out into the night, making sure they hadn't been followed, before turning back to him.  The steady staccato of the rain on the pavement outside drummed quietly in the background, adding a slightly ethereal feel to the night.  She looked him up and down for a moment before finally stopping at his eyes.  He stood up slowly as she stared intently into the glittering emerald depths and he had the distinct, eerie, and entirely uncomfortable feeling that she was looking into his very soul.  

He also took his first good look at her as they stood there studying each other in the faint glow from the street light above.  She was a little taller than average, probably about five foot seven or eight, and was thin to the point of malnutrition.   Her hair, plaited into a loose braid, was straight and long, ending at the small of her back, and though it was dark now with rain, he figured it to be a warm shade of brown.  Her eyes were a pale blue and sparked with intelligence and confidence.  Her jeans and T-shirt were faded but clean, and the jean jacket was obviously well-worn and a little large for her while her scruffy tennis shoes had clearly seen better days. 

It was quite obvious that she was a street kid, but there was something about her, some spark of life that spoke of an inner strength that set her apart from the rest.  Though obviously wary of him, she didn't try to cover her caution with false bravado.  As she stood in front of him, she seemed to hold herself with a quiet confidence, as though she knew her strengths, her weaknesses, and her limitations, and was at peace with that knowledge.  She projected a sense of awareness of what was going on around her, and a touch of true courage.  He saw no fear in her steady gaze.  Her eyes were clear, bright and intense, with no evidence of drugs or alcohol abuse.  

She obviously kept herself clean within and without.  

She finally broke her gaze and nodded to herself, as if she had made a decision, and took a step forward. She held her hand out to him and smiled at him warmly.  "I don't think we've been properly introduced.  I'm Alex."


	3. Introductions & Explanations

CHAPTER 3  

Ezra looked at her for a moment before his face broke into a wide smile and he took her hand.  

"Ezra—"

"Standish, yes, I know," she finished for him as they shook hands.  "It was kind of hard to miss, with the way they were yelling it back there," she explained when he raised his eyebrows in question.  "I took it you weren't too well liked."

Ezra released her hand and shook his head with a chuckle.  "Not especially, I'm afraid." 

Alex put her hands in the pockets of her jacket and leaned back against the wall while watching him keenly.  "So, Mr. Standish, mind telling me exactly what I stumbled into the middle of back there?" she asked casually.

Ezra's smile dropped into a sigh and he ran a hand through his damp hair. He eyed her carefully, trying to decide how much he should trust her with.  

"I'm not your enemy, sir," she said knowingly when she saw his hesitation, almost as though she had read his mind.  "I wouldn't have saved your butt back there if I was.  Now, I know you are definitely not one of the bad guys.  So what were you doing there, besides almost getting killed?"

He crossed his arms and smirked at her. "What makes you think that I'm not one of the 'bad guys', as you put it?"

She laughed.  "Well, hearing that guy yelling 'fed' might have tipped me off.  So what are you, FBI?  NSA?  Or maybe FAA, seeing as how we were at an airport?"

"Why not an officer of the DPD?"  Ezra asked curiously, surprised that she knew enough to distinguish among the different tribes of the law enforcement community.

"The guy yelled 'fed' not 'cop.' And besides, from what I can see that was a huge shipment, and those guys were big.  Too big for the local heat to be handling on their own. So that means you're a government man." She crossed her ankles and cocked her head at him, waiting for an answer.

He raised an eyebrow, impressed.  "You are quite observant."

She shrugged.  "Survival instinct.  Are you going to give me a straight answer, or are we going to play twenty questions?  At least I know whether you're animal, vegetable, or mineral."

Ezra chuckled at the comment and crossed his arms while favoring her with a thoughtful look of his own.  "Why don't we compromise?" he offered diplomatically, "I answer one of your questions, you answer one of mine.  Do we have an agreement?"

"Fair enough," she nodded.  "I've already asked the first question.  What part of the alphabet soup are you?"

"ATF," he answered with a grin.

"I thought they were based out of Phoenix," she frowned.

"This is a special unit set up here in Denver.  How do you know so much about federal bureaucracies?"  He asked curiously.

She shrugged again.  "Around.  You can learn a lot from the internet now a-days."

Ezra shook his head in amusement.  "Indeed.  What were you doing there tonight?"

"Ah-a-ah," she chided and shook her finger at him.  "It's my turn. You don't get two for the price of one."

"Ah, but I do believe you yourself made two inquiries in a row," he argued with a twinkle in his eye.

"No, I didn't.  The first one was a question.  The second was just a statement of what I perceived was fact.  _You_ opted to correct me," she reminded him with a hint of a smug smile while she slipped her hand back into the depths of her pocket.

His grin grew wider and he gave her a slight bow, holding his hand out to wave her on.  "True.  Carry on, then."

"Who was the suit and the lackey?" she asked pointedly.

His smile slipped into a sigh as he gingerly leaned against the edge of the entrance and ran a hand down his face.  He glanced back out into the foggy night before turning back to meet her steady gaze with an answer. "The gentleman in the tuxedo is none other than Mr. Paul Randolph, CEO of Hansford Financial, Chairman of the Board of Denver's Economic Council, and close personal friend of the Honorable Orrin D. Travis, assistant director of the Special Forces Division of the Federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms and my present employer.  The 'lackey', as you put it, was a man named Tony Vitalis.  Now, what were you doing there?"

"Wrong place at the wrong time. I was just looking for a place to get out of the rain and dry off.  I take it that Mr. Randolph showing up was a big surprise?"

"Very much so.  I knew that Vitalis answered to someone, but I had no inkling that the mastermind of the whole organization would be such a public and esteemed figure.  Mr. Randolph has done an excellent job of keeping his legal and not-so-legal operations completely separate.  You were trying to get out of the rain?  Then I can assume that you currently reside on the streets of Denver?" he asked quietly, keeping his tone carefully neutral.  He knew that most homeless and runaways were shy of law enforcers at best and he didn't want to alarm her.

He didn't think he could find his way out of this part of town by himself if she stranded him here.

Alex's head dipped a little at the question and she crossed her arms as though to ward off the chill of the night air.  Amusement settled on her expression but her eyes took on a guarded glint even as a faint smile touched her lips.  "You're quite observant yourself.  What tipped you off?  The clothes, or the rain part?  After all, I could just be a wild kid out looking for my supplier."

He snorted.  "You are definitely no junkie.  Your reflexes were much too sharp and your eyes are too clear.  You also seem to be a bright young lady, so why are you in your current circumstances?"

She shrugged.  "A lot of smart people are in my current circumstances.  Sometimes life deals you a bum hand.  You just gotta learn to roll with it."

"Indeed," he agreed, deciding not to push the point any further.  "I will assume that I have you to thank for the initial distraction?" he raised an eyebrow in question to which she just grinned and nodded.  "Then you have my deepest gratitude.  Though may I ask why?  You must have known that you could have used the situation in the office as the perfect opportunity to make your own escape, and you had no idea who I was or what my part was in the evening's activities.  Surely you realized that it would be more judicious on your part to safeguard your own well-being?"  He was curious as to why a complete stranger would risk her life for his.

She didn't answer immediately, but instead walked to the entrance of the tunnel and focused her gaze on the rain glistening in the yellowish glow of the streetlight outside. "Witnessing one murder was enough for one night." She turned to look up at him, her gaze piercing in the shadows of the tunnel.

He took in a sharp breath.  "You witnessed the events in the office?"

"Yes," she said softly, turning her gaze down at her hands.  "Like I said, I was looking for a dry place to spend the night and came across that old hangar on the edge of the airport property.  I found a few loose boards in that back window and climbed in.  I was there an hour, about enough time to dry off, when you guys arrived.  I ducked into the office and hid in the cabinet in the back.  I saw Vitalis drag a guy in, tie him to the chair and beat him.  About an hour later, Randolph came in.  They questioned the guy, then killed him."  She closed her eyes briefly, trying to shove the vivid memory out of her mind.  "When they went back out to talk to some guy named Walker—I take it that was you?—I slipped out the door.  I turned back when I heard the shouts, and decided to come up with a distraction," she shrugged.

Ezra ran a hand through his hair as he assimilated this newest information. "Your 'distraction' was exactly what I needed to abscond from a very delicate position."  He rubbed his forehead and sighed before looking back up at her.  "However, that means that you are in grave danger.  Mr. Randolph has taken great pains to keep his association with Vitalis concealed, and you have just become an endangerment to that.   He will not rest until you have been eliminated."  He looked back at her.  "Did they suspect your presence in the room?"

She shook her head.  "No, they had no idea I was there, and wouldn't have if I hadn't come back."

"A very risky and quite possibly foolhardy action on your part."

She looked up at him in confusion at his matter-of-fact comment, her eyes narrowing as the implications came clear.  She returned to her position against the wall and again shoved her hands into her pockets.  "Like I said, I wasn't going to witness another murder tonight, not when I could do something about it."  She gave him a small smile.  "And besides, there aren't many good guys left these days.  I wasn't going to stand by and let another one be wiped out."

Ezra chuckled and ducked his head, a self-depreciating smile on his lips.  "One of the good guys," he repeated wryly.  He looked back at her.  "And what makes you think that I am one of the 'good guys'?"

She didn't answer immediately—just stared at him intently, and again he got the unsettling feeling that she was looking into the very core of his person.  She then smiled.  "Call it a woman's intuition, a gut instinct—whatever you want, but it's telling me you're a good man, whether you want to admit it or not."

He snorted and shook his head in disbelief.  "You've known me less than two hours, my dear.  I much doubt that you are able to discern my character and true motivations in such a short time."

She just shrugged, the smile never leaving her face.  "Maybe, maybe not.  But my instincts tell me I can trust you, and I learned a long time ago to trust my instincts."

"Instincts can be wrong."  

"That's true, but not this time, I think."  She finally broke her disconcerting gaze as she again crossed her arms and cocked her head.  "So who was the guy in the office that was killed, and what exactly was going on?" she asked, changing the subject as she saw that she was not going to get anywhere arguing with him over it.  Besides—there was truth to his words.  She _hadn't_ known him all that long and couldn't be sure what he intended to do, but she found herself surprisingly comfortable in his company to an extent that she hadn't been with anyone else in a long time.

_'Strange,'_ she mused before pulling her attention back to the words of her companion.

"Mr. Randolph, it seems, is the current director of a very large and lucrative organization involved in the acquisition and merchandising of illegal weaponry, among other things.  The poor devil murdered tonight was a Mr. Chester Banning, the accountant for the operations. Vitalis suspected that one of his associates was exhorting funds from him, and he had me examine his financial records.  I'm afraid the gentleman in question did a very poor job of concealing his activities,"  Ezra frowned.

"And they made sure he didn't do it again, permanently.  So what do you plan to do now?" 

He rubbed his face and sighed.  "I'm not sure.  I have no hard evidence other than my word that Randolph is indeed involved.  And it will take much more than my dubitable pledge to convince my employer otherwise." He caught her confused frown from the corner of his eye and smiled in self-reproach.  "As I said before, Paul Randolph is a man of impeccable character in the eyes of this community, not to mention a close, personal friend of Judge Orrin Travis while I am but a thorn in his side," he explained dismissively.  "It will take nothing short of an act of a Divine Authority to convince the good judge and my teammates of the total veracity of my claims."

She scrutinized him for a moment at the tone of self-derision that she wasn't quite sure if she heard or not, but decided to let the statement go.  "Well," she said casually, "I can't get you an act of God, but if it's hard evidence you need, then this could be a start."  She reached down, picked up the briefcase at her feet, and held it out to him.

 "What is this?" he asked in surprise as he took the case and proceeded to open it.

"That is a set of ledgers and other documents concerning Randolph's business for the last seven months," she explained as she bent over to rummage through the backpack she had left against the wall.  "While I don't think there is anything in there that will point directly to Randolph, since I got the impression this guy Banning had no idea who the real boss was until tonight, it may give you a lead."  She pulled a small flashlight out of a side pocket and handed it to him.

Ezra looked up at her sharply from the papers that he had just pulled from the case and quickly took the light to examine the documents in his hand.  He nodded and mumbled to himself several times as he poured through the ledgers intently, pacing back and forth across the entrance of the tunnel.  He finally looked back up at her with a stunned expression.  "There is enough solid evidence here to imprison Mr. Vitalis for the rest of his life!  Where did you get this?"

She shrugged.  "It was lying on the desk in the office.  Vitalis showed them to Randolph when they were questioning Banning.  I grabbed it on my way out the door.  Planned to drop it off at the local police station, but I figure you can make more use of it," she commented dryly, humor showing in her eyes. 

"Indeed I can," Ezra agreed wholeheartedly, his sharp mind already blazing through ideas as he flipped back through the pages.  "You are correct, there is no corroborating evidence here linking Vitalis to Randolph; however, it certainly gives me a good place to start."

"_Us_.  It give _us_ a place to start," Alex interrupted his train of thought.

He glanced up at her determined features and lowered the pages in his bid to placate her.  "Now, my dear, this is a federal investigation.  I can't possibly let—"

"Look.  I'm already involved.  And I'm the only witness to that murder.  Like you said, I'm already in danger.  I have some contacts here on the streets.  I can help you."  She crossed her arms defiantly.

Ezra looked at her, his lips pressed tightly together in disproval.  "These men are not common street thugs.  They are as powerful as they are ruthless, and they are not to be taken lightly."

"You think I don't know that?" she snorted in derision.  "I'm not stupid, Agent Standish.  I saw what they do to people who cross them.  Up close and personal.  Look, I've lived on my own for a long time, and I've seen a lot of things in my life, a lot of terrible, evil things.  Man can be a really sick, deprived monster when he wants to be.  A lot of people wash their hands of things like that, and just walk away.  But I can't do that, not when it's in my power to do something to stop it."

"Why not?" Ezra shot back, curious at her determination.  "It's not your problem, after all.  Why get involved?"

"Because I couldn't live with myself," she answered decisively.  "I've seen a lot of things that I couldn't stop, a lot of people hurt that I couldn't help.  But I _can_ do something here.  It's the right thing to do, and I was raised to always do the right thing, no matter what the cost.  Besides," she said quietly, a distance creeping into her eyes, "I would have some very important people very disappointed in me if I backed out now."  A quick flare of grief flashed through those aquamarine depths and she turned her gaze to the slowly diminishing storm outside, but Ezra immediately picked up on it and wondered briefly what had happened to those people.   She turned back toward him resolutely.  "I can take care of myself.  I know that these guys aren't to be messed with.  I'm not going to do something stupid.  And the way I figure it, you're going to need all the help you can get.  So let me help you."  She challenged, setting a fist on her hip and staring at him in defiance.

He looked at her intently as he considered his options, then let out the breath that he was holding.  He knew that to resist that kind of determination would only be an uphill battle, and if he had learned anything from his mother, it was to pick his battles prudently.  A smirk graced his lips.  "I don't suppose I could stop you even if I wanted to."

She smiled back.  "Nope.  I've been told I can be one stubborn mule when I want to be."

He laughed.  "I've been described much the same way, though in much less flattering terminology."

"So, what do _we_ do now?" she leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms.

He leaned back beside her, looking at the ledger he held in his hand thoughtfully.  "We need solid evidence that Randolph is involved for my employer to even listen to me.  I know that the hangar tonight was supposed to be temporary storage.  Vitalis had planned on moving the goods to another location later this morning."

"Do you have any idea where that is?" Alex asked.

"No, but I know where to start looking.  This ledger mentions a corporation called Fieldman Contracting and Construction here in Denver.  While I was examining Vitalis's records for Mr. Banning's indiscretions, I came across a reference to 'FCC' a few times, as well.  I do believe it bears further examination."  He rubbed his eyes wearily.  "This ledger is only the tip of the iceberg, though.  With the size of the organization, there must be more extensive records of all business transactions somewhere else.  Mr. Randolph is a very meticulous man.  We find those records, we find the evidence we need to link him to Vitalis."

"Oh!" Alex exclaimed as a sudden thought sprang from her memory, "when I was in the office, I overheard them talking about making a deal with a new supplier, someone from overseas.  It sounded like this new guy was a very important person in Europe.  Randolph definitely wanted this deal.  They mentioned something about a meeting set up next week."

Ezra looked at her sharply.  "A new supplier?  That would be the perfect opportunity to bring the whole house of cards, if you will, down, provided we can find our evidence in time.  Did they mention a name, by chance?"

She looked up at the ceiling and scratched her head, frowning as she searched her recollection for the elusive term.  "Holland?  Hamton?" she paused for a moment before her eyes lit up and she swung back to face him.  "No!  I got it!  Hammings.  The guy's name was Hammings."

Ezra smiled at her.  "Excellent!  I'm sure that my associates will be able to find what we need about Mr. Hammings."  

"Your associates?"  she questioned.

"My partners, teammates, if you will," he explained.  "I am a member of Team Seven of the ATF.  My supervisor is Mr. Christopher Larabee."  

"Larabee, huh?  You know, I think I've heard that name on the streets a time or two," she grinned at him teasingly.

"And I'm sure it was nothing good, either," he remarked off handedly with a shake of his head.  His eyes suddenly widened.  "Mr. Larabee!  He's going to kill me!" he groaned miserably, running a hand down his face.

"Why?" Alex asked in sudden concern.

 He rubbed his temple.  "I have not been in contact with my teammates for the last six hours.  They knew about the shipment tonight, but were not able to monitor my activities.  Mr. Larabee was not pleased with the change in plans, to say the least.  He never likes it when things don't go according to his plans."  He glanced at his watched.  "And I have now missed my last check-in.  When he finds out what happened at the hangar tonight, he is going to be furious, to put it mildly."

"Are you going to contact him?"

"No."

Alex looked at him in surprise.  "If he's going to be as mad as you say he is, then why aren't you going let him know you're alright?"

"Because right now, Mr. Randolph thinks I'm dead, or at least, has no cognition of my whereabouts.  If I notify Mr. Larabee of my present health status, he will in turn notify his boss, Mr. Travis."

"And Randolph will find out through Travis.  Why don't you tell Larabee what you know about Randolph?"

"Like I said, Randolph is a close, personal friend of Travis, and a greatly admired and respected individual in this municipality.  Travis does not like me and barely tolerates my position on this team.  He will not hesitate to call into question my honesty regarding this matter."

"You could still tell your teammates."

"I'm afraid they don't have much faith in my character as well.  And besides, Randolph recognized me and knows of my placement on the team.  He will be watching them very closely to find a link to me.  I do not want to lose my present advantage."

"So you go it alone."  The disapproval was clearly evident in Alex's voice.

"For now," He smiled at her wearily.  "I assure you, my dear, it is nothing new.  I've worked alone for almost my entire life.  And it is only temporary.  Once I have the link to Randolph, I'll notify my teammates forthwith.  It will work out to the best advantage for everyone this way."

Her frown deepened, but she did not question the cryptic remark. "Well, you're not completely alone this time." She stated quietly.

He didn't understand her conviction regarding him, so he chose to ignore it for now.  They lapsed into silence then, each to their own thoughts as they waited for the weather to clear a bit.  He watched the falling rain for a moment before shaking off the melancholy that was creeping up on him.  

He had always been alone.  It was the way of his life.  '_Never depend on anyone but yourself, son.  Not even me,_' was his mother's constant words to him.  '_People are undependable.  Everyone is selfish, and is always looking for a way to stab you in the back just as soon as it's turned.  You can't trust them, and they sure are not going to trust you.  Anyone who thinks differently is a fool_.'  He had tried to live his life by that creed and had thought that he was succeeding quite well, but had always secretly desired something else—a longing that always seem to bring him down in the end.  His childhood had been lonely, his college years much the same, and his days with the FBI were better buried from conscious thought.  He had never had a close friend to hang out with, to talk to, to dream with.  No one cared about Ezra Standish.  He was nothing, a burden and a nuisance at best, and at worse—well, he was that too.  He was worthless, a commodity to be used and thrown away, a scapegoat when things went wrong.  Few people ever tried to show him differently, and he had never been allowed to stay long enough to believe it.  

He shivered in the cold of the night air around him, drawing Alex's attention to him.  His poker face was firmly in place, but in the faint glow from the streetlight above, she could clearly see the sadness in his eyes, and it struck a cord with her.  It was true she had only known him a short time, but there was something about him, something that she connected with, that made her feel safe. 

And it had been so long since she had truly felt safe—she wanted to hold onto to it a little longer.  

She pulled herself from her own musings and pushed away from the wall.  "We can't do anything until tomorrow, so for now, we'd better get somewhere warm and dry before we catch pneumonia."

Ezra rubbed his arms and grinned ruefully, breaking himself from his thoughts as a shiver shot through him.  "That would be most agreeable."

She grabbed her backpack and the briefcase and stepped toward the opening, leading the way out of the culvert to scramble up the slippery bank to the quiet street above.  Ezra gamely followed but slipped halfway up the slope, landing hard on his knees and  catching the elbow of his shirt on a small ground bush, tearing a hole in the material.  He grimaced.  "Ruined," he muttered, regaining his footing and climbing the rest of the way to the street without incident.  He came to stand beside the amused young woman and pulled his shirt away from himself in disgust.  "Another designer shirt completely ruined!"

Alex fingered the hole in the sleeve then patted him on the shoulder in sympathy.  "Yeah, but I figure it's better the shirt than you," she quipped with a raised eyebrow and twinkling eyes.  She hitched her backpack onto her shoulder and handed the briefcase to him.  "Come on.  I know a place where we can rest up, get something to eat, and plan our next move."

Ezra bowed slightly and motioned for her to move.  "Then lead on, dear lady," he smiled blithely.

She rolled her eyes, but grinned back before setting off down the dark street.  Ezra glanced over his shoulder in the direction they had come, staring into the gloom intently before slowly turning to follow her.  They gradually disappeared into the night, the rain covering any signs of their presence.

* * * * * * *

An icy rain and sleet mixture pounded the windows of the large, comfortable ranch house.

Though Denver was only experiencing rain, here in the higher elevations, that rain was turning to ice.  Chris Larabee stood leaning against the wall, staring out the living room window into the inky blackness beyond, trying to fight the uneasy feeling that had been steadily growing within him all day.  He still had on the same clothes that he had worn to work that day; indeed, he still would have been in his office if the others hadn't forced him to go home.  The hour was late, but he paid little attention to that. The grandfather clock that stood sentry in the hallway chimed two o'clock, and he glanced at his watch to confirm the time before glaring at the phone, willing it to ring.  

His undercover agent was now two hours late in making his check in.  

'_Come on, you lazy, no-good son of a b***h.  Call in!_' he growled mentally. But the phone remained silent.  He muttered a curse aloud and kicked the small shelf standing beside him before he resumed his pacing.

"Wearing a rut in your floor won't make the phone ring any faster," the tall, lanky sharpshooter observed nonchalantly from his sprawled position on the couch.  He had been given the duty of escorting Larabee home and had been ordered to make sure the older man got something to eat and some rest.  He had managed to get the agent to eat a roast beef sandwich, but had yet to get him to sit down, let alone go to bed.  '_Don't know what they thought I could do.  Ain't nobody gonna get Chris Larabee to do anything he don't wanta'.  And he ain't gonna rest until this case is over,' _he grimaced.  He continued to absently flip through the channels on the muted big screen television, ignoring the glare boring into the side of his head.

"I hate this!"  Chris slammed his fist against the wall, letting it rest there as he again turned his gaze out into the night.  "We should have set up some kind of backup.  Shouldn't have let him go in alone."

"Chris, you know there was no way ta avoid it. Ez didn't know where they were movin' the meeting, and we didn't have time ta set anything up if he did," Vin reminded him patiently.

"Then I should have pulled him in," Chris growled back.

Vin shook his head.  "And thrown away the last month's worth of work, not to mention driving Carnelli's supplier underground, making it ten times as hard to bring him down. Come on, Chris, Ez's been at this job for years.  He knows what he's doing."  
  


"Someone should have went under with him."

"There was no way, pard.  You know that," Vin sighed.  He looked at Chris a little closer, his eyes narrowing.  "What's with you, anyway?  Ezra's been under alone before, and it ain't never stuck in your craw like this.  I thought the investigation was going pretty good to this point."

Chris blew the air out of his cheeks and ran a hand through his hair before settling it on his hip.  "I don't know, Vin.  Something about this whole set up just don't feel right.  There's something we don't know, something we're missing.  And I'm afraid it's going to bite us in the a** before we figure out what it is."

Vin silently agreed with him.  There was something about this case that hadn't set right with him either.  "What did Ez have to say?" he asked.

Chris snorted.  "The usual.  Said he had things well under control and was perfectly capable of monitoring the situation.  Monitoring the situation.  Now there's a joke.  That SOB is more likely to _create_ a situation than to monitor it!"

Vin laughed.  "Yeah, trouble does seem to follow Ol' Ez like flies to horse s**t."

Chris raised an eyebrow at his friend in disbelief.  "Like you have any room to talk."

"Aw, now, I ain't that bad!" Vin protested indignantly. 

"Sure you're not," Chris scoffed as he leaned his back against the window frame and crossed his arms while resting one steel-toed boot on top of the other.  "And that's why you spent a night in the ER for a concussion after getting beaned by a softball back in October, limped around for 2 weeks on crutches for a badly bruised foot after that 'incident' with your horse in November, sported a black eye and a split lip, not to mention 2 bruised ribs and a sprained wrist after the Christmas party at the Saloon, and wrecked your jeep last month, on a straight stretch during the middle of the day on a completely clear road.  You know, February's only half over.  What do you have planned for this month?" he smirked.

"Hey!  That wasn't my fault!" Vin sat up on the couch to defend himself.  "We's just havin' fun at that ball game.  Carlos hadn't hit a thing all day.  Who knew he would send a line drive right at the pitcher's mound?  And Peso was jes' being ornery that day, feeling his oats."

"Vin, that glue bait you call a horse is _always_ ornery."

"Exactly!  It wasn't my fault he stepped on my foot.  And you can't blame that dust up in the Saloon on me.  _You're_ the one who threw the first punch.  And I recollect that you didn't look any better than me!" the tracker shot back irritably.

Chris winced at that, remembering the bruises and wisecracks he had endured for that particular incident, not to mention the spectacular display of temper that Inez had directed at him.  

That lady sure knew how to put a man in his place—and she hadn't let him near the place for two weeks!  

"I didn't ask you to put your two cents worth into that," he grumbled bearishly.  "I could have handled them just fine."

Vin snorted and settled back against the couch, picking up the remote control and reaching for a handful of chips from the bowl on the coffee table.  "Oh believe me, next time you decide to pick a fight with the local heavy weight champ and his four buddies, I'll gladly let you 'handle 'em'."

"There's still the jeep," Chris pointed out, refusing to lose the argument.

"Aw, now come on!" Vin set the remote back down and again faced his best friend, "How was I to know that herd of elk was going to choose that moment to cross the road? And I walked away from that!"

Chris raised an eyebrow and snorted in derision.  "Sure ya did—to my ranch, six miles away, in single digit weather, in nothing but your leather jacket, an old pair of jeans and no gloves.  You nearly froze to death before you made it to the house.  You're lucky you didn't lose your fingers to frost bite!"

"It wasn't that bad," Vin groused, reaching for the remote yet again.

"Vin, you were bluer than those weirdos on that computer commercial."

"I still say I was fine, just a little cold.  My jeep suffered more than I did."

"Really?  How can you tell?"

"Hey!  Now don't go bad mouthing my ride!" Vin shot at the man in black, shaking the remote at him in warning.

"That jeep has so many dents and rust on it, it's a miracle it's still in one piece."

"That jeep's gotten me through a lot of years, and it'll still be going when your truck is occupying space at the nearest junk yard!"  Vin declared as he once again changed the channel.

Chris just snorted and turned his attention to the blackness outside the window as silence filled the room once more, interrupted only by the rain on the roof and the sound of the heat pump kicking on.  "I still think something's not right," he finally offered softly a few minutes later.

Vin looked back up at him with a troubled look of his own.  "Has Ez said anything?  The man may be a cocky little SOB, but he has got great instincts for reading situations like that."

Chris sighed.  "He agreed that there was more here than what we could see right now, but didn't think it was something we couldn't handle," he answered as he turned back toward his friend.

"Well, then, what are you worrying for?" Vin asked.  "You know Ez.  If he thought things were too risky, he woulda told you."  
  


"Yeah, but his definition of risky is definitely not the same as the rest of us," Chris snapped back.  "We're talking about the man who broke cover in the middle of a fire fight with twelve guys with uzis to get to a live grenade.  It was a d**n miracle that it didn't blow up in his face while he was throwing it into the river!"  he shook his head in disgust.

Vin reached for another handful of chips.  "And if he hadn'ta, JD would be pushing up daisies.  Admit it, Chris.  He saved the kid's life," he pointed out before shoving the food into his mouth.

"While risking his own!" Chris huffed irritably.  "As if it would perfectly alright if he was blown to bits instead of JD!"  He ran a hand down his face and sighed.  "I tell ya, I just can't understand that man's warped sense of reason sometimes.  Usually he's an arrogant, self-absorbed, cocky little s**t who won't lift a finger to help out anyone unless something's in it for him, but then, just when you think you've got him pegged, he goes and does something like that and blows your theory out of the water."  He pushed himself away from the wall and ran a hand through his mussed hair.  "I think he does it on purpose just to annoy the h**l out of me."

Vin laughed.  "He does seem to get a kick out of watching that little vein on your forehead throb.  I'd almost swear he had a death wish or something." He sobered then, a thoughtful look filling his face.  "But to tell ya the truth, I'm beginning to get the feeling that the Ez we see is only a cover for something else entirely on the inside.  And to tell the truth, I'm kinda curious as ta what's under all that fuss and feathers."

Chris snorted and reached down for his own handful of the chips.  "That may be," he declared, "but I still can't figure him out."  He bit into a chip.

Vin pierced him with a steady blue gaze, all levity gone as he tried to get his point home.  "None of us do, pard.  But you don't have to understand him—all you have to do is trust him."  

Chris met the gaze with a clear green one of his own.  '_Yeah, but he sure don't make that easy sometimes.' _his eyes seemed to say.

_'Don't matter, cowboy.  Just means you gotta try harder.' _Vin's confident look answered.

Their silent conversation was suddenly interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone.  Chris reached it in three long strides and all but jerked it out of its cradle.  "Standish, you'd better have a good reason—" he started to growl.

Vin watched in concern as Chris cut off in mid-bark to listened to the speaker on the other end.  A lead ball of dread formed in his stomach as his friend's features paled suddenly and a frown deepened the lines on his face.  "You found it where?…What happened?…And you're sure there was no sign of—…" Chris pinched the bridge of his nose.  "Alright.  Don't touch it.  We're on our way."  

He hung up without a goodbye and grabbed his coat off the chair he had thrown it across, pulling the keys out of his pocket.  Vin was a step behind him, pulling his own leather jacket on as he rounded the couch to follow his boss out the door.  "What's going on?" he asked tensely.

Chris met his concerned gaze with a fear-laced one of his own.  "There was an explosion at the airport tonight.  Some hangar got blown off the map.  They found Ez's jag parked nearby.  There was no sign of him," he explained grimly.

"S**t!"  Vin's eyes widened in worry before he flipped the lights off and slammed the door behind them.  They climbed into the cab of the Ram, and Chris fired it up as they pulled on their seatbelts.  Vin pulled out his cell phone, intent on sending the emergency page to the others. "It'll take a good forty-five minutes to make it to the airport," he reminded the older man.

Chris slammed the truck into gear.  "Yeah?  Well I plan on being there in thirty."  

They peeled out of the driveway in a shower of gravel.


	4. Midnight Confessions

I just want to say a quick thank you to all of you who have reviewed this story.  It has been really encouraging!  Even after I finished writing the rough draft with rave reviews from my betas, I was still leery of posting it because of the prominent position that my OC plays in the story.  It's a great relief to know that the readers are enjoying it!

The next few chapters are much slower in comparison to chapter 2 but are vital for the plot, so don't give up on me—I promise to have much more angst, plenty of action, and a nice, neat plot twist coming up in the near future!  The other guys will be coming into play much more clearly as well, and of course, there's going to be plenty more of our favorite gambler on the way, so stay tuned!

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CHAPTER 4 

Ezra followed Alex along the wooded path, alternately rubbing his arms and blowing on his hands, trying to warm them.  Though a warm front was moving in, bringing the rain and slowly cutting the bitter temperatures that had enveloped the region earlier in the week, the night air was still freezing, and as he was without his coat and soaking wet at the moment, he felt the cold even more keenly than usual.  _'Whatever possessed me to take up residence in a place called the 'mile high city'?'_ he wondered unhappily even as another shiver raced through him.  

He could hear the traffic of the interstate in the distance and the noise of a river closer by though he couldn't actually see either one.  They had left the city streets for the more open areas of the suburbs west of Denver and had followed a railroad track for the last two miles before splitting off onto the path they were presently traversing.  He took a moment to appraise his surroundings, but all he saw were droopy conifers and gloomy, leafless aspens, with water dripping intermittently from their silver limbs.  There didn't seem to be any semblance of available shelter anywhere close by.  "You are sure you know our present location?" he called ahead dubiously.

Ally nodded without looking back.  "I'm sure.  We're almost there."  She never broke her stride as she confidently made her way up the slippery path.  

He glanced around once more, not quite sure that he believed her, but he followed behind anyway.  He really had no place else he could go, and right now, all he wanted was to get out of the cold.  He tried to find a bright side to his current situation.

He was still alive, which, considering the events of the evening, was a small miracle.

And at least it had stopped raining.

_'And now I'm starting to sound like JD!'_ he chastised himself with a sarcastic laugh and quickly turned his attention back to the path and his efforts to keep himself aright despite the slick mud and his treadles loafers.

A few minutes later, he spied a long chain link fence looming out of the fog up ahead, separating the forest from what looked to be an open field.  The path ended at the fence where two large trees stood with their branches shadowing a padlocked back gate.  Ally reached into the inside pocket of her jacket and pulled a small file out before reaching for the lock.  In seconds, she had it off and was pushing the gate open.  "After you," she smiled and motioned him through the gap.

He raised an eyebrow at her.  "Should I take it that you come here often?" he quipped as he stepped through the opening and waited while she shut and locked the gate after them.

"Occasionally," she shrugged, placing the file into its pocket then slinging her bag over her shoulder once again before leading the way across the grassy expanse.

He followed closely behind her, his instincts still on high alert as he surveyed the surrounding area for any signs of danger, trying to see past the fog that shrouded everything beyond a few feet.  The poor visibility had his nerves on edge, and the muffled, lonely sound of the wind blowing through the trees, the rustle of the long grass that they were walking through, and the clacking of the tree limbs weren't helping him relax.  

With all of this working against him, it was no wonder then that he didn't see the low stone hidden by the grass directly in front of him until he tripped over it and fell to the ground with a muffled grunt.  

He pushed himself to a sitting position and gingerly rubbed the knee he had landed on while looking around for the offending rock in irritation as Alex came back to check on him. He pushed the grass away from the rectangular shape and leaned in to take a closer look.  Rain water glistened on the smooth, shiny obsidian surface, marred only by what looked to be….praying hands?!  He suddenly registered what he was seeing and quickly scrambled to his feet. "A tombstone?" he muttered, looking across at the girl in disbelief as he brushed himself off.  

Alex readjusted the pack on her shoulder and snickered at the surprised and suddenly wary expression on his face.  "Well, yeah.  They're a given in a cemetery." Seeing that he was none the worse for wear, she turned to continue on her way.

He grimaced at the mud that now caked his fingers and stained his jeans, and he tried to clean some of it off of his hands on the wet grass before skirting the headstone and quickening his pace to catch up with her while casting another uneasy glance at his surroundings.  "And what," he asked as he stepped around another, taller monument, "pray tell, are we doing here at night?"

"You're not afraid of ghosts, are you?" She glanced up at him with a twinkle in her eyes, her smirk growing larger at his obvious discomfort.

"Of course not," he declared firmly, "But I do not believe it to be the custom of normal people to go traipsing through necropolises in the middle of the night." 

Her smirk blossomed into a full grin and her eyes sparkled with humor.  "Then it's a good thing I'm not normal."

"Indeed. It does, however, give rise to the question as to just what kind of person I find myself in the company of," he remarked dryly.

She shrugged as they started up a small incline dotted with white aspens and stately spruces.  "It's quiet and peaceful.  No one to disturb me."  

"Just you, the tombstones, and the bats, zombies, and occasional chainsaw murderer," Ezra quipped with a shake of his head. The whole scenario he found himself currently in brought to mind the movie fest Buck and JD had forced the team to endure the last Friday the thirteenth, and he shuddered involuntarily from revulsion of the memory of the tacky, gory, and just plain outright horrible films.

It was the last time he agreed to let them pick out the entertainment.

She eyed him oddly at the comment. "Chainsaw murderers?  And you wonder if I'm normal."

He didn't get a chance to answer as they topped the knoll to find a small building looming in front of them out of the fog.  She led him around the side to the narrow door in the front and again pulled her file out to unlock the door before leading the way inside into what looked like a small foyer.  

As the door shut softly behind them, she finally withdrew her flashlight and flicked it on, training it on the dust-covered wooden floor as she pushed her way through a set of double doors into a much larger room.  Ezra followed her into the building but paused in the doorway as he took a good look at his surroundings.  Two rows of wooden pews lined the walls, and large stained glass windows rose from waist level to nearly twenty feet above his head.  The cathedral ceiling was artfully painted with scenes of clouds and angels, and a prayer bench lined the front of the room. A large wooden cross adorned the white wall behind the bench, and a long table filled with unlit candles of all sizes stood beneath the carving. '_A chapel,'_ he realized.

She led the way down the center aisle, heading for a little door off to the side of the bench.  He followed her through the door and entered into what appeared to be a small, windowless store room.  The floor in here was concrete and covered in a thick layer of dust.  Another door stood in one corner of the adjacent wall to their left.  Boxes and crates were stacked haphazardly around while a few broken pews lined the back wall.  She worked her way through some of the rubble, pushing her way into the corner diagonal to the entrance underneath a rickety ladder leading to what must have been an attic.  She stooped down for a moment, disappearing in the darkness, before standing back up and throwing something at him.  

He caught it out of reflex then glanced down to notice that he was holding a rolled up sleeping bag.  She grunted as she pulled a long box back out into the middle of the room and pried the lid off.  She lifted an old lantern out and shook it to check it contents before setting it on the floor beside her and reaching into her pocket for her book of matches.  Soon, the room was lit with a soft glow. 

She next pulled a thin towel out of the box and handed it to him, then rummaged around in the backpack for a small pouch which she gave to him as well.  She nodded to the door in the corner.  "That's a bathroom.  Has a sink, a toilet, and a mirror.  You can dry off in there."  She handed him a large, worn blanket from the depths of the crate as well as the flashlight.  "I don't have anything for you to change into, so you can wrap up in this until your clothes dry."  He hesitated a moment, and she gently pushed him toward the room.  "Go on.  I want to change clothes myself, and I'm sure not doing it with you out here."

He entered the small room and shut the door behind himself, resting the light him on the back of the ancient toilet.  He dubiously tried the faucet on the old porcelain sink and was pleasantly surprised to find running water, even if it was ice cold.  He opened the pouch and pulled out a clean-looking rag and a ziplock bag containing half of a bar of soap and quickly began to clean himself up.  When he finished, he wrapped the blanket snuggly around himself and reached for the door handle, but then hesitated.   He rapped loudly on the door.  "Are you finished dressing?" he called through the wood.

"Yes.  You can come out now," was the muffled reply.  

He opened the door and found her stretching a line across the room, dressed in another old pair of jeans and a faded navy sweatshirt with her hair hanging long and straight down her back.  When she had the line secure, she proceeded to hang her wet clothing on it.  She reached for his and hung them beside hers.  "There, now," she said, satisfied with her work.  "These will hopefully be dry by morning."

She again rummaged under the ladder to return with a battered, old fashioned washtub filled with odd scraps of wood and cardboard.  She emptied the tub in the middle of the floor then set up the smaller pieces of wood in the center of the basin, along with some scrap newspaper she pulled from a pouch in the backpack.  Soon, she had a cheery little blaze going, and motioned Ezra near it.  "It's not much, but it should take some of the bite out of the air," she explained nonchalantly. 

"It's quite adequate," Ezra assured her as he held a hand over the heat while firmly keeping the blanket together with the other.  He watched as she set their wet shoes by the fire, then pulled a small grate out of the box and placed in over the tub.  A saucepan soon followed, as well as an old teapot without its lid.  She went to the bathroom and rinse them out, then returned with the teapot filled with water.  She set this on the grate and reached into the box for a can opener and a can of generic chicken noodle soup.  She emptied the contents into the sauce pan, added water from the kettle, and set it on the grate as well.  "I was never as thankful as I was the day the dollar store started carrying foodstuff," she grinned at him.  "Hope you don't mind.  It's the best I have to offer."

"It's fine," he reassured her with a smile.  "Just don't tell my associates.  My reputation would be severely tarnished if word of this got out."  

She laughed as she stood up and climbed the decrepit ladder.  He watched her curiously and a little fearfully, for the old rungs didn't look steady enough to hold a bird, much less a person.  A moment later, he felt a slight breeze as she propped the trapdoor leading to the attic open slightly.  She returned to the floor safely and wiped her hands on her jeans before reaching for the sleeping bag and spreading it out on one of the steadier looking pews.  "Don't want the smoke to build up in here," she answered his unspoken question.  "The attic is vented to the outside, so opening the trap door gives me a sort of chimney."

"Ingenious," Ezra remarked as he watched her movements with interest.  After she had the sleeping bag situated the way she wanted, she began to piddle around the room a bit—rearranging some of the boxes, dusting off a larger area of the floor, checking the contents of the pot—flitting from one corner to the other in constant, restless motion.  It was obvious to him that she was nervous having him in what appeared to be her home and he sought to reassure her.  "I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly.

She looked up at him from where she was stirring her soup and smiled shyly with a slightly guilty expression.  "I didn't think you would, or I wouldn't have brought you here in the first place," she answered.  "It's just that I don't get much company.  I'm used to being alone."

"Perfectly understandable," he nodded, adjusting the blanket more securely.  "So," he began casually, "You have made this house of prayer your humble abode?"

"For now," she answered over her shoulder as she checked the water in the kettle.  "It's only temporary, though.  I'll be moving on in the spring."  She nodded, satisfied at the temperature, and turned back to lift a chipped coffee mug, a plastic bowl, and a disposable plastic spoon out of the box. She quickly rinsed them out in the bathroom before returning to her makeshift kitchen and setting the bowl and spoon down on another crate.  She dug into her box once again, this time emerging with a tea bag which she set into the cup and poured hot water from the kettle over.  "No sugar," she shrugged in apology as she handed the cup to him.

He took it gratefully, savoring the heat coming from the porcelain, and smiled.  "Quite alright," he assured her as he took a small sip.  The warm tea felt delightful going down to his stomach and served to warm him up from the inside, calming the chills that were still occasionally racking through him once and for all.

Ally next poured a bit of the soup into the bowl which she handed to him as well before settling back against a pew with a plastic spoon, the saucepan, and her own mug of hot tea.  Ezra gingerly sat down on a sturdier looking crate and tentatively tested the soup, finding it surprisingly tasteful for a generic brand.  It certainly wasn't a gourmet meal, but right now he was just happy to have something hot to eat period and wasn't about to complain. 

They fell into silence for a few moments, content to consume their meager meal while listening to the crackle of their small fire and the mournful moan of the wind outside.  Ezra finally broke the stillness with another question. "What made you decide to take up residence outside the city and in a cemetery, of all places?  Why not take shelter in one of the missions?" he asked with a wave of his spoon.

Ally just shrugged without looking up.  "I'm not a big fan of cities."

The face of a certain sharpshooter flashed across his memory, and Ezra smiled.  "I know someone else who is of the same mind," he commented.

She glanced up at him and returned his smile.  "It's safer out here," she explained after she swallowed a spoonful of soup.  "I try to stay off the street whenever I can.  And some of the missions and shelters aren't much better than the streets.  Besides, they ask too many questions.  And I don't like the company I'm forced to keep at those places."

He raised an eyebrow at her as he took another sip of his fare.  "And just what kind of questions would you prefer not to answer?" he asked inquisitively.

"Ones like that one," she grinned.  "Let's just say I'm a private person and have my reasons for keeping to myself."

He raised his spoon in acknowledgement.  "I believe I can relate to that sentiment.  But why the cemetery?"

She shrugged again.  "It's peaceful here. It's small enough that it doesn't have a night watchman, and this chapel is rarely used, as most prefer the newer building up front.  And it's secluded.  It's far enough back in the trees that no one will notice movement around it.  Of course, running water is always a plus."

"I was wondering about that," Ezra noted as he took a sip of his tea.  "If the chapel is never used, why is the water on?"

She took a bite of soup before answering his question.  "I think it comes from a well out back.  There's an old septic tank out there, too."

He nodded and changed the subject.  "So, if you live here, what were you doing in the city tonight?"

"I have to get supplies somewhere," she answered as she finished her remaining meal and set the pan on the floor beside the tub before reaching for her own mug.  "And I don't stay here all the time.  Sometimes, when it's really cold, like last month, I have to hunt for someplace warmer, like one of the shelters.  And besides, it's safer to keep moving around, not to stay in one place too long.  I really don't want anyone finding out where I'm sleeping at."

He took another drink and frowned at the second reference to her safety, wondering just what it was she was running from.  It then struck him that she had said she didn't want anyone knowing where she lived, and yet, she had brought him here.  He again marveled at the amount of trust she was showing him after only a few hours when it was obvious she didn't trust anyone easily.  He didn't ask her about it, though.  "You said this was temporary.  Where are you headed, if you don't mind my asking?" he questioned as he took another bite of the broth.

She sipped her tea before answering.  "East," she said with a mischievous grin.

He snorted and shook his head as he set his now empty bowl down on the floor beside the pan and resettled himself on the box closer to the fire.  "Okay," he drawled out, "and where are you coming from?"

"West," she replied cheekily.

He rolled his eyes as he pulled the blanket tighter around himself.  "Your answers are not the most informative," he complained lightly.

"Sure they are," she answered.  "I could be going south to north, north to south, northwest to southeast, or a variety of directions."

He shook his head but smiled at her reasoning.  "I'll concede your point.  Why Denver?"

"Why not?" she shrugged.  "I've never been here before, thought it would be a nice place to visit.  Besides, it's not the best idea to be traveling in winter."

"A valid assumption, but why not stay in one place, preferably some place warmer, such as, oh, Palm Springs?" he asked dryly.  As if in agreement, a strong gust of wind chose that moment to hit the building, causing it to creak under the force.

Alex smirked as she lifted her mug to her lips.  "I like the snow.  And I prefer to keep moving."

His eyes narrowed at the comment as he tried to decipher the hidden meaning buried in her jesting.  "Because it's safer?" he asked softly.

She stared back guardedly at him over the rim of her cup, studying him intently for a moment before she smoothed her features back out into a neutral expression that was quite admirable in his estimation.  "Yes," she answered carefully, "the streets aren't the safest places to live."

He frowned as he took another sip from his own mug and considered her words.  She was clearly wary of something more dangerous than just street thugs and gangs.  He again got the feeling that she was running from something but let the subject drop as it was obvious he wasn't going to get a straight answer.  "So where are you from originally?" he asked, changing the subject.

The canniness in her eyes gave way to a mischievous twinkle and she crossed her ankles in an effort to find a more comfortable position.  "East."

He lowered the mug that he had been about to take a drink from and groaned.  "Don't start that again!"

She laughed at his expression before turning his question back onto himself.  "And where are you from originally?  It's obvious you're not from around here."

He snorted and took a sip from the cup.  "And whatever gave you that idea?" he deadpanned.

She favored him with a merry smile and a cock of her head. "Oh, I don't know," she commented dryly, "maybe it was your aversion to the cold.  Probably the thick southern accent.  Georgia, I'm guessing?  South Carolina?  Alabama?"

He shook her head at her efforts and smiled in amusement. "I've spent time all over the east coast and south," he offered in answer to her question.  "I would bore you with the tedious list.  Suffice it to say, I've been around."

"Military?" she asked casually as she flipped a loose lock of hair back across her shoulder.

He smirked at her with raised eyebrows.  "Now who is being intrusive?"  She shrugged an apology but smiled at him unrepentantly.  "No," he answered her question anyway.  "My mother and I moved around often in the pursuit of, shall we say, financial gain."  

His words were light, but she picked up on something that rang a bit off in his tone and her smile faltered a bit.  "Sounds lonely," she observed sympathetically.

He averted his gaze to the fire and wrapped his hands around the cooling porcelain mug.  "It had it moments," he admitted, wondering why he was being that honest.  He decided to get off of that topic as quick as he could.  "Now that I've answered your questions, perhaps you'd be kind enough to answer mine.  Your voice has the faint undertones of a southern accent, and yet it is not as thick as my own, as you pointed out.  Am I correct in surmising it to be an Appalachian lilt?" he raised a questioning eyebrow.  "North Carolina, perhaps, or maybe eastern Tennessee or Kentucky?"

"Close enough," she laughed.  "No one else ever picked up on the accent, though.  You're either a pretty good linguist or a bad influence."

He laughed and favored her with a gold-toothed smile.  "I'd much prefer to be considered a suitable linguist than an ill influence, if you don't mind," he asserted.  "So how does a southern lady find herself so far from home?" he questioned, letting the fact that she didn't completely answer his question go.

The grin faded from her lips to be replaced with a small frown and a pained expression as she looked away from him.  Grief haunted her eyes, and she turned her gaze into the fire with a sad little smile.  "Life's funny that way, I guess," she answered a bit flippantly.

"Your parents?" he asked, suddenly wondering if they were what she was running from.

The sad look deepened into a wistful melancholy.  "Dead," she whispered.

He felt a wave of compassion for her after seeing the old pain settle on her features.  "And you have no other family?" he asked quietly.

"An uncle.  And my grandfather," she smiled a little as the words brought to mind a few of her favorite memories.  

"What happened?"

"They're gone too." She answered vaguely, her gaze never leaving the flames.

He glanced over at her and then ducked his head, realizing that he had unwittingly trod upon something quite painful for the girl.  However, though he was truly penitent at the intrusion, he felt a little satisfaction at the insight he had just gained into his companion, no matter how slight.  He finished his tea and set the mug beside his bowl before shifting on his box into a more comfortable position.  He too turned his gaze to the fire and licked his lips before delivering his next comment. "I have a fri—a teammate that found himself in much the same situation as yourself.  He too decided that it was 'safer' to take to the streets," he remarked casually.

She finally looked back up at him in curiosity.  "What's he doing now?"

He glanced over at her and smiled fondly.  "He is the resident sharpshooter of my team.  He lives in Purgatorio, and gives much of his free time to helping the other less fortunates around him."

"Sounds like a good man to know," she commented with a slight smile.

"That he is," Ezra agreed, "that he is."

They lapsed into silence, both staring into the fire, deep in their own private reflections.  "What do you plan to do tomorrow?" she asked, finally breaking the quiet.

"I'll find a way to research Fieldman Construction, and pay them a visit, after hours, if need be.  I also need to further examine Mr. Banning's private records.  The ledgers are quite extensive, but I do believe he must have more somewhere else, possibly at work," he answered.

"And how do you plan to get in?"

He gave her a sly grin.  "You're not the only person who can pick locks."  That comment brought to mind something else he had been meaning to ask her about and he looked at her curiously.  "Just how did you learn to pick locks?"

She laughed at the question and met his look with twinkling eyes and a bright smile of her own.  "My grandfather was a remarkable man."

He raised an eyebrow at the mysterious comment but received no further explanation and made a mental note to further inquire into the topic at a future date.  "Indeed," he remarked. "He does sound like a gentleman that I would have enjoyed meeting."  He ended his observation in a yawn that he couldn't quite suppress.

Alex noticed this and stood to her feet in decision.  "Well, you won't be doing much tomorrow if you don't get some rest."  She motion toward the sleeping bag as she gathered up the used dishes to take to the bathroom.  "You can sleep there tonight," she tossed over her shoulder.  "It's not very soft, but it is warm."

He glanced at the pew and furrowed his eyebrows in dismay.  "I can't take your bed," he protested.

"It's no big deal," she answered as she re-entered the room and used the towel to dry the utensils before returning them to the box.  She pulled another blanket from the box and tossed it across another pew across the fire from him.  "I can make do with this."

"It is most certainly a 'big deal.'  I can sleep with the blankets," he argued.

"Look," she declared firmly, "I'm not the one who took a line drive into a wall, and I'm not the one who was beat up on tonight.  That sleeping bag isn't the best, but it is softer than these benches.  If you want to be moving tomorrow, you need something halfway comfortable."  He made to protest again, and she held up her hand to cut him off.  "Now, I'm not going to argue this.  I told you before, I can be very stubborn when I want to be, and I'm putting my foot down on this.  Besides, I've got a few things I want to do before I go to bed, and you'll just be underfoot over here."

Ezra opened his mouth to try another tactic, but shut it at the resolve shining in her eyes.  He shook his head with a sigh, realizing that he was not going to win this battle.  He waved a hand in acknowledgement of his defeat, too weary to argue with her.  "Alright, alright, I'll sleep here.  For tonight," he stated determinedly.  "But we will argue this point further tomorrow."

She laughed.  "Agreed.  Good night, then," she offered good-naturedly and handed him a rolled up shirt.  "To use as a pillow," she explained when he raised an eyebrow in question.

He took the shirt and settled himself, blanket and all, into the sleeping bag, turning his back to the seat, facing out into the room and leaving the zipper down for easy exit if needed and to ease the feeling of confinement that the bags usually resulted in.  He situated the shirt so that he was comfortable and finally settled down.  "Good night," he returned genially.  

He watched her moving about for a while but soon closed his eyes as his exhaustion finally caught up with him, only opening them again briefly when he heard her begin to hum softly to herself.  He recognized the melody to be an old hymn that his Aunt Faith had sung to him a lifetime ago, and a small smile graced his face as he settled more deeply into the bag.  He soon drifted off to sleep without realizing it, dreaming of a small cottage deep in the heart of Georgia, and of peach pie, bed time stories, and his time spent with his beloved Aunt Faith and Uncle Henry.


	5. Meanwhile, Back at the Hangar

Yeah—I finally updated!  I know—I promise to update regularly then promptly wait a week before posting anything new!  I'm truly sorry about that, but things here at school picked up a bit, what with the first round of tests of the semester coming up, trying to find jobs that a soon-to-be-college graduate as myself would be qualified for (which aren't many with the job market the way it is), my brother's car breaking down, having to take him to work and pick him back up, which completely shot my weekend, by the way—well, you get the idea. 

I do again thank you so much for the great reviews!  I hit a bit of writer's block when it came to updating this chapter, and your kind words were the ticket to getting me going again!

WARNING:  This chapter contains a few paragraphs concerning religious beliefs.  They are the only such references of the story and don't have anything at all to do with the plot, being used, instead, to fill out my OFC a little more, but if such things offend you, then you might want to just skim the first part of this chapter until you get to the part about the rest of the boys.  

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CHAPTER 5 

Ezra awoke the next morning to soft, multicolored light filtering in through the partially-open door to the chapel.  He sat up and stretched, wincing at the pull of bruises and a stiff back, and rubbed at his arm that had grown sore from the night spent laying on it before taking a quick look at his surroundings as he tried to push the sleep from his lethargic brain.

The fire had been rebuilt and blazed cheerily in front of him with the full tea kettle sitting close enough to keep its contents warm.  The mug he had used last night rested on top of a box right at hand with the white string of a tea bag hanging over the brim, waiting to be filled with the warm water.  He looked across the fire to see that the blankets had already been picked up and replaced in the box, along with the dishes they used last night.  The clothes line had been taken down, and the clothes that she had worn yesterday had disappeared, presumably packed away, while his lay neatly folded on the bench beside him.  Ally was no where to be seen and this he found to be disconcerting as he realized that he had slept through her ministrations.  

He frowned.  In his line of work, such an action could prove to be lethal, and he never slept deeply while undercover, even when paired with a partner—in fact, he slept even less with someone familiar with him, as the weight of responsibility for their lives as well as his wore heavily on him.  He had to have been much more exhausted than he had thought.  

He shivered at the cold nip in the air and quickly pulled on his socks, t-shirt and pants, having left his wet boxers on last night.  

After all, a gentleman had to have _some _modesty, especially in the presence of a lady—unless, of course, money was involved.

He found his watch and wallet lying on the bench underneath the clothing, and on impulse, he reached for the wallet.  He hesitated a moment, then opened it anyway, checking its contents.  Everything was there, including the two hundred dollars he had in cash.  He felt a flash of guilt for suspecting the girl, but, as he reasoned with himself, she _was _an orphan living on the streets for who knows how long, and, though she seemed to be surprisingly honest and upright for someone in that position, he really didn't know much about her beyond their initial meeting.  She could be involved in all kinds of things. However, his estimation of her rose a little higher at his find.

He flipped the leather billfold closed and slipped it into his pocket before sliding the watch onto his wrist.  He slipped the shirt over his shoulders and began to button it up, but paused as he realized that the ones that had been torn off by Randolph's goon the night before had been replaced with new ones. '_When did she have time to do this?'_ he wondered and checked his watch.  He was shocked to find that it was twenty minutes after two.  

The day was half gone!  

He quickly buttoned the shirt up and pulled on his shoes, relishing the warmth in them from the fire, before filling the mug with the waiting water and going in search of the girl.  He found her sitting cross legged on the prayer bench in the main room, a book spread out in front of her.  She was still wearing the clothes she had changed into the previous night, but now had her hair pulled back into a nice, tight French braid.  She looked up as he entered the room, and put her finger in the book to mark her place.  "Good morning," she smiled shyly.

He glanced back down at his watch and chuckled ruefully.  "I do believe you mean good afternoon."  He sat down on the front pew and looked up at her as he tentatively sipped at his tea.  "You could have wakened me," he casually observed.

She shrugged as she slipped a marker into her book before closing it and turning around to face him.  "I figured you needed the sleep."

He nodded with an appreciative smile.  "And for that, you have my sincerest gratitude."  He pulled at his shirt and looked up at her questioningly.  "And it seems that I owe you some thanks for repairing my shirt and cleaning the rest of my haberdashery as well, but it does leave me wondering if you got any rest yourself last night at all."

She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand and a small laugh.  "I got some.  More than usual, actually." 

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the remark, wondering just how much she usually got, but didn't ask the question out loud.  Instead, he sat back against the hard wooden surface behind him and rested his arm across the back while motioning toward the book she had in her hand.  "What are you reading?" he asked as he took another sip from his mug.

A slightly guarded looked entered her eyes, but she smiled softly at him anyway as she lifted it to show him the cover.  "Psalms," she answered.  

He caught sight of the cracked and frayed black leather and realized that she held an old, worn Bible in her hand.  "You are religious, then?" he asked, a bit surprised.

"No," she answered with a shake of her head.  "I'm a Christian.  There is a difference."

"Indeed," he commented and raised an eyebrow in amusement as he crossed his ankles and rested the mug on his knee.

She ran a gentle hand over the book resting in her lap before meeting his gaze square on.  "Yes," she continued. "Many people claim to be religious, but few are actually sincere in what they say they believe.  My faith is a lifestyle, not merely a set of rules and regulations I live by to make myself feel better, nor is it something that I pull out whenever it's convenient or I want to impress someone."

He raised a hand in surrender.  "I'm not going to mock you, my dear," he said soothingly.  "You have every right to your own faith.  I know several people who hold belief in a higher power than themselves and have nothing but the utmost respect for them."

She eyed him for a moment then nodded her thanks and gave him a small smile in return.  "Sorry.  I don't mean to sound so contrary, but I've met a few people who think any kind of religion is just superstitious hogwash and are sure to let me know it, especially when I try to abide by the statutes outlined in here," she glanced back down at the cover, a slight blush filling her features.  "I'm not a fanatic and I'm not trying to force my faith on anyone—you can't really make someone believe in something they don't want to anyway, and my God doesn't want it that way, as it is.  I respect other people's rights to believe in what they want or in nothing at all, if they so choose; all I'm asking for in return is that people respect my right to my beliefs as well and not treat me like I'm an idiot for choosing to believe."

Ezra nodded and smiled at her disarmingly. "I promise you, I'm not going to look down on you.  I agree that I have no use for the hypocrites of various faiths who try to force others into their molds, but I do have respect for those who are honest with their religious values, even though I may not hold such faith myself. In fact, I have an associate who holds your God, as well as many others, in high regard, and I greatly admire and respect this man, though I would kindly appreciate it if you didn't let him know that.  I do have a reputation to maintain, after all."  His eyes twinkled in merriment as he took another sip from the mug in his hand.

Alex returned his smile with an appreciative one of her own and ducked her head, a bit embarrassed at her defensive reaction.  "Thank you," she said softly.  

His stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, and they looked up at each other and grinned.  "Hungry?" she asked dryly and raised her eyebrow in amusement.

He sat up straight and patted his protesting stomach.  "It would seem so," he answered ruefully.  "I do believe I could go for a hot meal right now.  My treat." He pulled out his wallet and retrieved a fifty dollar bill, holding it up for her to see.  He watched her eyes widen in surprise and he smiled.  She honestly had no idea what was in the wallet, indicating that she hadn't even opened it.  

_'Whatever else she is,' _he mused, _'she is certainly no thief.' _

He slipped the bill into his shirt pocket and finished off the contents of his mug.  "Is there anything nearby?"

"Well," she said shyly as she slid from the bench, "there's one of those family places not too far from here."

He nodded and stood to his feet.  "That will be satisfactory," he approved.

She smiled as she put the bible back into the bag at her feet before heading for the storeroom.  "Let me clean up in the back, then we'll go."

He followed her inside and folded the sleeping bag while she doused the fire and emptied the washtub contents outside before placing everything back where it belonged.  A few minutes later, they were ready to go, and she pulled the storeroom door shut tight and led him back down the aisle to the front entrance.  "My dear, you are a bad influence on me," he commented as he paused while she tested the door to ensure that it was locked and that they had left no sign of their presence.

"Oh?" she asked as, satisfied with her work, she turned to lead the way down the path to the paved road that wound through the cemetery. 

"First you have me eating generic food, then actually performing manual labor, and now you have me ready to brave the cuisine of a chain restaurant."  He signed dramatically, but his smile indicated that he was teasing her.  "My teammates would simply die of shock if they were to find out." His gold tooth glinted in the light, and his eyes twinkled in merriment.

"Just how many of these associates do you have?" she asked as they neared the front gates.

He laughed at the curious look she gave him.  "Six.  Six of the oddest, craziest, uncouth, barbarous individuals one would ever have the displeasure to meet.  And six men that I consider it a great honor to have known."

They stepped through the front gates of the cemetery onto the sidewalk and he gallantly offered his arm to her.  She hesitated for a moment and glanced up at his eyes in confusion before smiling shyly and tentatively taking it.  "Let me tell you about them," Ezra smiled in assurance and they continued their way down the sunlit street.  "First, there is Mr. Wilmington…."

* * * * * * *

Chris pulled his Ram up behind the row of official vehicles of various agencies and departments outside the remains of the hangar, shut the engine off, and sat for a moment, looking at what once was a rather large building.  '_G**, it looks worse in the daylight than it did last night!'_ he thought grimly. 

He and the others had arrive the night before to a scene of total chaos as the airport emergency personnel and various fire departments from around the city joined together to try and contain the blaze.  They had been directed to the man in charge of the scene who tried to give them the run around until Chris turned his deadly glare onto him.  

But it hadn't mattered, really, because it was simply too soon to learn anything.  All they had to go on was the jag (thankfully parked far enough away to remain undamaged), what looked to be the remains of several high powered automatic rifles, and a large burning pile of ruins that used to be a hangar.  The police impounded the jag as evidence, refusing to let the team take it back home even though there was little chance of them finding anything on it.  They had finally gone home, discouraged, fearing the worst, and hoping for a miracle—a hope that all but died in the harsh light of day.  

Buck's truck pulled up beside him to the left, followed moments later by Josiah's suburban to the right.  Chris sighed, opened his door, and slid out to the wet ground, steeling himself to face the worst.  A chorus of slamming doors echoed across the empty lot as his men joined him on the pavement, and he nodded a good morning to them before leading the way through the barricade, heading for the nearest official they could find.  Buck strode beside him, JD trailing close behind, followed by Josiah and Nathan.  "Where's Junior?" Buck asked as they neared the rubble.

"Went down to the DPD lab to see if they've found anything yet."  Chris answered.

"H**l, Chris, it happened less than eight hours ago.  They ain't gonna have nothin' yet!"

"I know.  But I figure Vin can light a fire under their tails, get the ball rolling," Chris allowed a feral smile to shade his features for a moment before his face fell back into its dark, brooding expression as he scanned the crowd, looking for someone familiar.

Firefighters still lingered about, keeping an eye out for flare-ups and trying to cool the mess down.  The team came across a young man sitting on the side lines, taking a breather, and surrounded him.  Chris flashed his badge.  "I'm looking for Wade Dawson," he growled shortly.

The young man glanced up when their large forms shaded him from the morning sun, and he gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down noticeably.  "The fire marshal?  He's over there with the FBI guy who's in charge," he pointed across the lot where a group of federal agents and other law representatives were mingling about.  

Chris didn't reply—he just turned his determined stride in the right direction.  Buck offered the boy a quick smile and a "Thanks, kid," before following his long time friend.  

"Buck? JD?  Go talk to the guys who were here to put the blaze out last night, see what you can find.  Josiah? Head to the flight tower.  See if you can find out who was renting this hangar.  Nathan?  You're with me."

Nathan hung his head in unhappiness for a moment in a classic _why me?_ pose while Buck grinned at him and clapped him on the shoulder.  "Better you than me, Doc," he smirked before turning toward a temporary shelter across the lot with JD close behind. JD tossed him a sympathetic look over his shoulder while Josiah offered him an understanding pat on the back before he jogged back to his vehicle.

Nathan's stomach plummeted even further when they made it to the group and saw who was running the show.  Wade Dawson, a tall, slightly portly man with dark hair now salt and pepper and gray eyes the color of hard steel, had been fire Marshal for the City of Denver for twelve years and had worked with Chris in the past.  He had proven himself to be a hard but fair man and one who respected the same qualities in those around him.  He and Chris had learned early on how to work with each other, and each held mutual respect for the other.  Dawson knew what Larabee wanted and when, and Chris knew to stay out of Dawson's way and under no circumstances tell him how to do his job. Nathan wasn't worried about Dawson.  The older man knew about the infamous Larabee temper, knew how to circumvent it, and how to face it down, when necessary.  

The special agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigations standing beside him, however, did not.

Chris and Martin Lewis also had history, none of which was good.  Lewis, in Jackson's professional opinion, was a horse's a**, first rate.  The man could teach the class at Quantico.  He made Ezra look as meek and humble as a Sunday school teacher—which was no small feat.  How the man managed to survive twenty years in the business without someone doing the world a favor by popping him, Nathan couldn't figure out.  Lewis played politics like a well-strung violin, and had no problems whatsoever with stepping on the little people to get what he wanted.  He was the epitome of bureaucratic ineptitude.  He could completely screw up the easiest of cases, and he had stealing credit from those around him down to an art form.  He was blatantly and loudly against team seven and was constantly on the look out for any excuse to cut them down.  

And the addition of Ezra Standish to the team a few months early had been the biggest excuse and one that he expounded on frequently.  He was firmly in the anti-Ezra club in Denver—shoot, he was president!  As far as he was concerned, Ezra was a dirty cop.  End of story.  He didn't care that there had been no concrete evidence, he didn't care that Ezra had consistent alibis and explanations for every charge brought against him, he didn't care that Atlanta had been forced to drop the case on grounds of insufficient evidence.  He, like many others both in Atlanta and Denver, played prosecutor, judge, and jury, and hung Ezra out to dry.  If he had his way, the undercover agent would be drawn and quartered, tarred and feathered, and hung from the tallest tree in Colorado.  And the rest of team seven would be right behind him, starting with Chris Larabee himself.

Chris had no use for departmental bureaucrats, especially the ones who sat in the safety of their offices and criticize and nit-picked every decision he made, every action taken, every case result.  Chris despised the hot air bags who tried to tell him how to do his job; those who couldn't run a field team if their lives depended on it and who wouldn't last three seconds in a real bust.  And Martin Lewis was one of the worst.  

Chris and Lewis went together about as well as oil and water—no, that was being kind.  

Chris and Ezra mixed like oil and water.  

Chris and Lewis mixed like nitroglycerin and a good strong earthquake.  

It was _not_ a pretty picture.  

Which was why Nathan was really wishing he were anywhere but there right at that moment, including visiting Rain's old aunt Melba.  Just the thought of the old hag made him shudder.  Well, maybe he wouldn't go that far.  Maybe playing mediator between Lewis and Chris really was the better choice.  

He'd have to think about that one.

"Larabee," Dawson acknowledged the men gruffly as they reached him, holding out his hand in greeting.

"Dawson," Chris returned, shaking the hand.  "So what do you have here?"  He completely ignored the other man who was standing to his right, sputtering in indignation.  

"It's only been eight hours, Chris.  The place is still too hot to begin investigating anything."

Chris nodded in agreement.  "Yeah, but you're the best, Wade.  And knowing you like I do, you've got a theory."

The old man eyed him up and down for a minute then nodded.  "I've got some ideas.  But what do you know about it, first?"

Chris sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  "I think it's tied in with our current case.  My agent was undercover in one of the local crime rings.  He called yesterday around noon saying an exchange had been set up for today at a warehouse downtown, then called back around seven and said the time had been moved up to last night and the place changed, but he didn't know where.  That was the last I heard from him."

"He the owner of the jag we found near here?" Dawson asked.

Chris nodded.

"He give you any idea as to what was being exchanged?"

"Not entirely, but he did know that they were bringing in a shipment of assault rifles and some grenades among other things."

Dawson rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  "Well, that would fit in with my theory."  He started walking around the remains of the building, explaining as he went, the others following close behind.  "My initial thoughts are that the fire started here," he pointed to what had been the western side of the building.  "From what I found in the building blueprints, a gas line runs above ground along this wall.  The evidence I found so far is consistent with a gas explosion.  The guys in the repair shop say that they heard two explosions—the first one around midnight last night, the second about ten minutes later.  This building wasn't used anymore.  Matters of fact, it was schedule to be demolished this summer.  The pipes were old and brittle.  I think either something punctured a pipe or one was leaking, something else caused a spark, and boom!"

"Something like a bullet?"  Chris asked grimly.

"Possibly.  Probably.  The second explosion was much more intense.  It's the one that left the crater in the pavement.  The ignition source for that was something much more volatile, more explosive and more powerful.  A couple crates of grenades and gunpowder would definitely fall in the realm of possibility."

"So the exchange happened here, proved by the presence of the jag, and something happened, either a double cross or a falling out of some sort.  They got into a fire fight and in all the shooting, accidentally set off a gas explosion.  The resulting fire then ignited the grenades to cause the second explosion."

Dawson nodded again.  "Like I said, I won't have anything concrete for you until tomorrow evening at the earliest, but that theory holds about as well as anything else I can think of right now."

Chris looked out over the vast expanse of the lot, watching the fire crews douse a small hot spot.  "Anyone come across any bodies yet?"  He hated to ask the question, dreading the answer, but needing to know.

"No one's come across anything yet.  We'll know for sure once we get it cooled down enough to start cleaning up.  I'll let you know what I find."

"Thanks, Wade.  I appreciate it."

"Now wait a d**n minute, here!  I'm in charge of this investigation, Larabee!"  Nathan winced as Lewis finally made his presence known.  "This is not your case!  Any reports that are filed come to me!"

Chris turned to the man with a glare that could punch through solid steel.  "Listen here, Lewis," he said icily, "this fire involved one of _my_ men.  That _makes_ it my case.  Me and the boys are not sitting this one out until Standish is found.  You here me?" he challenged, pointing his finger in the older man's face.

"You don't know that Standish was here for sure.  All you have is circumstantial evidence at best.  So what if his car was here?  Knowing your man, he caught a private jet with your crime lord and is living it up in Tahiti right now on all that dirty money he's got stashed somewhere.  Standish isn't worth the effort it would take to bury him.  Everyone knows he's a worthless turncoat.  He's a detriment to the agency.  And even if he was here and in that," Lewis, the idiot that he was, sneered in the blond agent's face, "then he just got what was coming to him anyhow."

"You son of a b***h!" Chris growled deeply in his throat, grabbed Lewis by the lapels of his designer jacket, and shook him hard.  "You listen to me, Lewis.  Standish is _not_ dirty.  You got that?  He is a d**n fine agent, and has more talent in his little finger than you could ever hope to have in a lifetime!" 

Lewis's eyes widened in fright as he tried to pull out of the other man's grip.  "Someone get him off me!  He's gone crazy!" he yelped frantically.

Dawson and Jackson grabbed Chris's arms and pulled him away, while Lewis shrank back behind his aide and straightened his jacket nervously.

"Come on Chris, calm down now, ya hear?"  Nathan commanded as he stepped in front of the angry agent and pushed him backwards.  "This isn't doing Ezra any good right now.  You getting yourself locked up for hitting the jack a** is _not_ going to help things."

Lewis popped up from behind his aide's shoulder and shook his finger toward the furious blond.  "I'm still the agent in charge of this investigation, Larabee!" he yelled from his safe distance.  "And if I catch you so much as _thinking_ about interfering, I'll have you're a** in a sling so fast your head will spin. You got that?" 

Chris growled again and struggled to get free, his face red with fury and a murderous intent.

"Get out of here, Lewis!"  Dawson barked with a glare at the other man as he struggled with Nathan to hold Chris back.  "You may be the agent in charge of the investigation, but this is _my_ crime scene until the reports have been filed, and I want you off of it.  Now!"

Lewis's jaw opened and closed a few times as he sputtered his indignation.  "Now!"  Dawson roared, and the smaller man reluctantly stepped away.

After he was out of sight, Chris jerked his arms out of Nathan's grasp.  "That b*****d could care less if we find Ezra or not.  All he wants is another d**n feather in his cap!"  he snarled.  "And he's perfectly willing to sacrifice Ezra to get it!"

"We won't let that happen," Nathan assured his boss with a pat on his shoulder.  "We'll get Ezra back safe and sound _and_ solve Lewis's case for him."

"I'll make sure you get copies of all the reports, and if I find anything, you'll be the first to know," Dawson promised.

Chris sighed as he took one more look around the fire site, his anger draining from him to be replaced with a growing despair.  _'How could anyone survive this?'_ he wondered to himself.  He shoved the thought back to the far corner of his mind and glanced back at the older man with a nod.  "Thanks, Wade."

"Anytime, boys.  Anytime." He clamped the younger man on the shoulder.  "Now.  This _is_ a crime scene, and you _are_ in my way, so get out of here and let me do my job." 

Chris smiled at him ruefully and nodded to Nathan, indicating that it was time to leave.  They both threw up their hands in a wave goodbye and headed back, swinging a wide berth around Lewis and the flock of newspaper and television reporters gathered beyond the police tape.

They met the others back at the truck.  "Well?"  Chris growled, crossing his arms as he impatiently waited for their reports.

"The guys who were here last night say they didn't see anything. They did say that the fire was pretty intense, a real b***h to get under control.  If someone was in there—"  Buck didn't finish his sentence, but they all knew what the implications were.

"Ez wasn't in there.  I don't know where he is now, but I know he wasn't in that," JD stated firmly.

Buck grinned and put an arm around the kid's shoulders.  "We know that, kid.  Ol' Ez is like an annoying itch that you can't get rid of.  H**l, he's probably at the office now, waiting for us to get to work."

"And if he is, I'm going to wring his ****ing neck!"  Chris growled.  He turned to Josiah.  "What did you find out?"

"The hangar itself wasn't in use, and was going to be tore down later this year," Josiah began.

Nathan nodded.  "Yeah, that's what Dawson said."

"Anyway, they had no idea someone was using it.  As far as they knew, the place was empty," Josiah continued as he leaned back against the side of his suburban.

Buck snorted.  "How do you miss guys with machine guns unloading crates in a hangar as out in the open as that?"

Josiah shrugged.  "Don't ask me.  However, the hangar closest to it was scheduled to have a shipment come in around eight last night, but called to let security know that it would be late."

Chris narrowed his eyes.  "What time did they make delivery?"

"ten-thirty."

"That could have put them in the general area around the time of the explosion," JD commented thoughtfully.

"Coincidence?"  Nathan suggested.

"I don't believe in coincidences.  Did you get a name?"  Chris asked.

Josiah crossed his arms and nodded sagely.  "Fieldman Contracting and Construction."

Chris's eyes hardened to flint and a cold smile spread across his features as he pulled the door of the Ram open roughly.  "Well then, boys, let's go pay them a visit."


	6. Things You Learn in a Library

Whoo hoo!  I got two chapters done tonight!  Alright! 

It's 4:00 AM, and I'm still up running on caffeine with a 9:30 class tomorrow morning, but hey, it's only history, right?  I can always sleep through that.  No problems there….

Disclaimer:  any inaccuracies regarding documentation available, etc. at the University of Denver's Penrose Library or the Denver Public Library are completely unintentional as I have never been to either place (in fact, I've never been to Colorado, period) and based the information used in this chapter on my experiences with the library here on my own college campus.  But, that _is_ why it's called fan fiction right?

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CHAPTER 6 

Ezra sat hunched over the computer terminal, his attention focused completely on the screen before him.  He had been here for hours, diligently searching through mountains of information for what he needed, slowly working his way through the bureaucratic red tape and the various firewalls and other protective measures designed to keep people from doing the very thing he was doing at the moment.  

While JD was the indisputable master when it came to all things computer, Ezra was no slouch himself and a fairly efficient hacker in his own right.  The skills proved to be the veritable cyber lock pick he often needed to obtain the evidence he was seeking while undercover, and he worked to keep them sharpened and honed.  

They also proved useful in other ways.  In Atlanta, he could not depend on his co-workers to provide the crucial information he needed to protect himself while undercover, and as at times his very life depended on the knowledge he gained, he had learned to obtain what he needed himself.  It was just another area in which he had to watch his own back, having no support and no one to fall back on when things went sour.  

And it was another area in which he had been pleasantly surprised when he first came to team seven.  

He had been shocked the first time he went undercover for Larabee.  When he had received the assignment, he had automatically assumed he would be doing his own research, as he had always done in Atlanta.  But the others had not forced that job on him.  They had diligently and painstaking researched, checked, and double checked all their sources to make sure they provided him with accurate information.  For the first time in a very long while, he had exactly what he needed, when he needed it, and had not been forced to improvise on the fly.  

And this had been the norm for every case proceeding.  

But even as he was bountifully grateful for their help, he still kept his own skills in practice, the tiny voice in the back of his head constantly reminding him that it wouldn't last forever, that eventually he would screw up, like always, and they too would feed him to the wolves like everyone always eventually did.  

It wasn't so much that he expected them to fail him, an eventuality that he prepared for by keeping his distance and forming no attachments—no, it was that he firmly believed that _he_ would fail _them_.  

Because he always did, no matter how hard he pushed himself for perfection, no matter how hard he worked and strived to be the best at his job.  It was an indisputable fact—He, Ezra P. Standish, was a screw up.  And he would, he knew it; eventually, he would let them down and be left alone in the cold once again.  

It was only a matter of time.

"But not this time," he vowed fiercely to himself.  This time had too much counting on it, too many people's lives in the balance.  

He was _not_ going to fail this time.

After completing a bountiful brunch, he and Alex had headed to the University of Denver's Penrose Library, at her suggestion.  Ezra had needed a public terminal with unlimited access to state documents, and a way to remain anonymous while he performed his research.  She had informed him that the university library was a depository for federal documentation, and was also connected to the state network, including the federal building.  He would have perfect access to what he needed, provided he could get around the various blocks on the system, which he assured her he could do easily.

Another plus was that during the semester, the campus library was open much later than the public library further downtown.  And it had computer cubicles to provide the students privacy as they worked.  

All in all, it was exactly what he needed. 

They had reached the large building around four then split up, he entering the structure and she leaving to complete a few errands. It had been ridiculously easy to con his way into the computer lab and gain access to a computer, and he had set to work immediately. Ally had promised to return by eleven—it was now fifteen minutes till.  Ezra rubbed his eyes tiredly and stretched while glancing around the room, noticing for the first time that he was completely alone.  He looked down at the pile of documents beside him and straightened them into a neater stack.  It had taken a lot of effort, but he now had plenty of evidence to work with and a place to start.  He looked up as the door opened and Alex slipped through quietly.  She had her jacket wrapped snuggly around her, and her cheeks were pink from wind exposure.  She carried a large paper bag in one hand and the ever-present black back pack over her shoulder.  She set the bags down in the floor beside him.  "You about finished here?" she asked.

"Quite." Ezra sat back and tapped the small stack of papers.  "Here it is—a listing of all properties held by Fieldman Contracting and Construction, as well as financial statements for the last year," he smiled at her smugly.

"Great," she said as she pulled over a chair from the nearest cubicle and sat down on it.  "So what did you find out?"

He pointed to the screen.  "On the surface, the company is very much on the up and up.  Business is doing well.  They made a modest profit last year and the year before that.  They keep all their taxes up to date, follow all appropriate safety measures, have excellent employee benefits."  
  


"But…" she prodded.

"But there are some small inconsistencies.  Such as this commission they completed last June."  He rifled through the pages beside him before pulling out a few sheets to show her.  "This statement," he handed her a paper, "shows a materials estimate and construction cost projection for an office complex in Aurora.  The materials sheet shows that the project was estimated to cost a total of seven hundred and fifty thousand, not including engineering costs."

Alex whistled lowly as she glanced over the page in her hand.  "That's a lot of money."

He handed her another sheet.  "This is the final report given to the company that owned the new building.  It states that final costs totaled six hundred and eighty seven thousand dollars, a full sixty-three thousand under budget."

She glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow.  "I bet the company was very happy," she remarked dryly.

He nodded in agreement.  "I'm sure.  This statement," he handed her a third page, "is Fieldman's official report, showing that the final costs were seven hundred and seventeen thousand dollars, or thirty-three thousand under budget."

Alex's brows furrowed.  "That's thirty thousand short.  What did they spend the extra money on, and why did they absorb the cost themselves, especially if they were under budget to begin with?" she asked.

Ezra smiled his approval.  "My question, exactly.  Which led to a further study of the expense accounts during construction."  He pointed to a column on the Fieldman report.  "It shows here that the company hired exactly twenty-two men to complete the project.  However," he pointed to a similar row on the other report, "this page says that twenty men were hired.  That's two men unaccounted for.  Now at approximately fifteen dollars a man per hour, ten hours per day, five days per week, and a total construction time of twenty weeks, the extra funds come to thirty thousand dollars."

"The amount of money the company was short."  Alex studied the pages then looked up at him with a frown.  "So why did they hire the extra men?"

"Ah, but look at this." He handed her another sheet labeled _Employees_.  

She scanned the details then paused at the end before looking back up at him with wide eyes.  "There's only twenty men listed here."

Ezra's smile widened and he sat back in his seat.  "Exactly."

"A typo, maybe?"

"One would think that, and indeed, that is probably what the company's accountants assumed as well, seeing as the bank records are in accordance with the report shown to the hiring company."  He crossed his arms, his gold tooth glinting in the fluorescent light from above.

"Alright.  What am I missing, then?"

He pulled one of the ledgers from the briefcase and flipped through it until he came to the page he was looking for.  "This is a record of a transaction of illegal armaments bought from a small arms supplier in Indonesia in June.  Notice the total expenditure," he pointed to a red line at the bottom of the page.

She leaned over to see what he was alluding to and a slow grin spread across her face as she read the amount.  "Thirty thousand dollars."  She met his eyes.  "The exact amount the company was short and the amount it cost to hire the two extra men—all in the same time frame. But how did they explain it away?" she questioned.

"Like you pointed out, it was probably assumed to be a typo on the Fieldman report, seeing as how the bank statement agreed with the second report," he explained as he flipped a few pages over.  "However, according to this ledger, the purchased armaments were sold a month later to a small rebel force in South America.  At the same time, the company completed a second project in Boulder, estimated to cost nine hundred thousand.  The final expenditures of that project were nine hundred and fifty thousand, according to the report Fieldman gave the hiring company, giving them a total of fifty thousand over budget.  The Fieldman report, however, claimed that final costs were only ten thousand over budget, thus over-charging the company forty thousand dollars."

"But when the bank statement showed up, it agreed with the Fieldman report," Alex interrupted.

Ezra nodded with a quick smile of approval.  "You're catching on."

"So why didn't the other company put up a fuss?"

"The hiring company is a foreign corporation, headquartered in—"

"No, let me guess," she interrupted.  "Headquartered in the same foreign country as the rebels who bought the armaments."

"You got it."  He sat back and stretched his arms behind him, intertwining his fingers at the base of his skull, a smug grin hovering on his lips.

She sat back and let out a small breath.  "So even though the reports didn't match, no one suspected anything because the bank statement always agreed, and the total amounts always came out.  But if they were using the company to move their illegal money, why didn't the bank catch on?" she asked.

"Ah, but there's the clincher.  If you'll take note of the appellation of the banking institution utilized by Fieldman, you'll see that they used Weston Banking and Trust to hold their funds."  He caught the confused look starting to form on her face, and explained further.  "Weston Banking is a small institution here in the Denver area.  It used to be a large conglomerate, but over the years has suffered financial troubles and is now just a small chain of poor little banks in the less appealing areas of the city."

Alex furrowed her brows and leaned forward on her knees.  "I can see that it looks odd that such a successful company would be using a rundown and dying bank to hold its money, but I don't see what you're driving at."

"Oh, that's right," he remembered with a snap of his fingers, "you had no idea whose demise you witnessed back in the hangar yesterday, did you?"

Alex shook her head.  "All I know is that his name was Chester Banning."

Ezra raised his forefinger into the air, like a professor about to prove an important point.  "Ah, but you see, Mr. Banning was employed as general manager of the Purgatorio branch of Weston Banking and Trust."

Alex's eyes widened.  "So he was not only doing the accounts for the illegal activities, he was also doctoring the bank statements!"

Ezra sat back and grinned.  "Exactly."

"But this is all circumstantial.  There is nothing directly tying Fieldmans to the illegal activity."

"That's where you are wrong, my dear."  He turned back to the computer and hit a few more keys.  "You see, the foreman of Fieldman Contracting is a man named Hulio Martinez.  After a little more digging, I found that Hulio Martinez actually did not exist before 1991."

"So the name's an alias.  Who was he, then?"

Ezra smiled as the picture he was looking for came up, and he slid his chair over to give her a clear view of the mug shot on the computer screen. "Tony Vitalis!" she exclaimed in surprise.  She leaned back in her seat and let out a breath slowly.  "Wow.  So now we have Fieldman Contracting linked to a known criminal and arms smuggler, the same one you've been investigating.  But we still don't have the storage spot, and we still don't have a link to Randolph."

He sighed.  "I realize that.  However, I do now have a listing for several properties belonging to Fieldmans Contracting.  I'm sure that if we find where they keep their supplies, we will find the records to take us to Randolph."

"So what do we do next?"

Ezra pinched the bridge of his nose.  "While we have documentation showing that Vitalis is linked to Banning via the illegal accounts, we have nothing proving that Banning was doctoring the bank statements of Fieldmans."

"So if you were to go after Vitalis now, you would get him, and maybe a few others, but the company could potentially get off," she frowned.

"Yes," Ezra agreed as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankles while sliding his hands into his pockets. "And in order to shut the gun smuggling down, we need to fell the entire operation, meaning we must take down the entire company."

"So you need proof that the company accounts were indeed absorbing the illegal funds."  Alex crossed her arms and rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "And how do you propose to do that?  You can't get a legal warrant to search Banning's office without contacting your boss, and you can't contact your boss without risking tipping off Randolph."

"I need to find the proof first and move it to a safe place from which I can retrieve it later under legal means," he noted.

"So you plan to do a little snooping in Banning's office without official permission," Alex stated.  She gave him a questioning glance and a frown.  "That's fine and dandy but for one thing.  Vitalis knows that Banning double crossed him," she pointed out.  "How do you know he hasn't already taken that proof?"

"Ah, but he didn't find out about Banning's deceit until late last night, which did not give him time to get back to the office.  And the bank is in operation until seven tonight, being Friday night.  The employees won't finish their duties until closer to eight, possibly eight thirty.  Vitalis simply hasn't had the opportunity to remove to evidence.  Tonight will probably be my only chance to get to it before he does, however," he explained.

Alex's frown deepened.  "And what if he gets the same idea tonight?"

Ezra shrugged.  "It's a chance I must take if I am to pull down the entire house of cards."

She could see the determined glint in his eye and sighed.  "And I don't suppose there is a chance I could talk you out of this?"

He shook his head and smiled, and she sighed again with a shrug.  "Well, then.  I guess we're making a trip to Purgatorio tonight."

It was now Ezra's turn to frown.  "I would prefer that you sit this one out, my dear.  It could prove to be very dangerous."

She cocked an eyebrow at him, readying herself for an argument.  "We've been over this before, Ezra.  I've been living on the streets for quite a while now.  Facing thugs with knives and guns is nothing new to me.  And I'm not letting you go in there alone," she stated with conviction.

He studied her expression for a moment then sighed in defeat.  "I don't like it," he complained.

She smiled at him.  "I don't care if you like it or not.  I'm coming.  End of story.  Now let's get out of here before Vitalis beats us to it while we stand here arguing."

Ezra let out another exasperated sigh and began gathering his supplies.  "You are simply incorrigible, my dear."

Her smile widened into a grin as she stood to her feet and put her chair back where she got it.  "I know.  But, as the old saying goes, it takes one to know one."

He snorted, but smiled anyway.  "You are quite correct."  He shut the computer off and turned to her, motioning toward the door.  "Shall we go, then?"

She nodded and reached down to pick up her bags.  "Oh, wait!" she paused, "I almost forgot.  Here, this is for you."  She handed him the paper bag.

He eyed it curiously then looked at her.  She motioned him to open it, and he reached to pull out a black, worn corduroy jacket, a pair of gloves, a pair of worn jeans, and a green pullover sweater, all in his size.  He raised his eyebrow at her, and she shrugged, her cheeks flushing with color.  "Well, it's winter!  You couldn't run around in nothing but that shirt.  Your southern blood would freeze!  And since you don't know how long before you can go home, you're going to need another change of clothing.  You can't wear what you have on forever."

He stood in shock for a moment, trying to comprehend what she had done and to figure out her angle, but for the life of him, he couldn't see any benefit she gained from her generosity.  He looked from the coat back to her, and she shifted uncomfortably under his questioning stare.  "It's not much.  I picked them up at Goodwill after I got your sizes last night.  They're used, but they're clean.  I know you probably wouldn't be caught dead in someone's hand-me-downs, but it was all I could afford."

Ezra laid the coat across the chair and lightly lifted her chin up to look in her eyes, a gentle smile creasing his features.  "Whether or not you will believe me, there has been the occasion in my youth when circumstances dictated that I make use of a hand-me-down or two, and while it's true, I wouldn't normally shop at charity stores, I understand the necessity and want to express my deepest gratitude for your thoughtfulness.  But you didn't have to do this.  I could have bought my own coat."

She shrugged.  "You've got a limited amount of money that you'll have to live on until you can go home.  And you were busy tonight, and needed the coat now.  It wasn't a big deal."

His smiled widened as he reached for his wallet.  "It was a big deal.  And I'm sure your funds are much more limited than my own.  Here, let me reimburse you." 

"Oh no you don't," she protested.  "They're a gift.  You don't repay gifts.  And when you're done with them, you can return them to the store to be sold again, or you can take them down to one of the missions."

Ezra frowned, pausing with his hand at his back pocket.  "But—"

"Now, no buts," she said firmly.  "I won't take your money.  You needed the jacket, and I got it.  It didn't cost me that much.  If you won't consider it a gift, then take it as payback for lunch today.  I wanted to kick myself all day today after suggesting such an expensive place, anyway."

"It was not expensive, and I did not expect you to pay me back.  As I told you, it was my treat."  He crossed his arms and fixed her with a glittering green stare.

She shrugged.  "So, if you can treat me to lunch, I can buy you a coat.  That is how the gift thing works, isn't it?"

He tried another approach.  "It's not the same thing—"

"Yes it is," she cut him off.  "And it's not charity when a friend does it for you.  So take it, be grateful for it, and stop arguing about it."

"I am grateful for it, but you shouldn't have put yourself out.  You've only known me for one day.  That's hardly long enough to qualify us as friends," Ezra argued back.

"It is when you risked your life to save mine," she pointed out.

"I do believe it was the other way around."  Ezra reminded her with a smirk.

"Exactly," she nodded with her own smug grin.  "So I get to choose whether or not we can be friends.  And besides, I'm sure you'll get the chance to save my life sometime down the road," she crossed her arms self-satisfactorily.

"But—"

"Oh, take the dang coat and shut up.  We're wasting time standing here."  She picked her bag up and started down the hall toward the stairway.

He shook his head.  "Stubborn, cantankerous—"

"I heard that," she called back over her shoulder.

He smiled ruefully and fingered the coat.  "She bought me a jacket," he finally relented with a shrug, and slipped it on.  He welcomed the warmth and buttoned it up snuggly before placing the other articles back into the paper bag, stuffing the gloves in his pocket, and grabbing the briefcase.  "Wait up!" he yelped and ran to catch up with her.  "You're right.  I'm being a complete cad.  Thank you for the clothing," he offered.

She smiled.  "You're welcome, friend."

He snorted and shook his head.  "You don't know me well enough to call me a friend."

"And you don't know me, either.  But I figure most friends start out that way.  All it takes is for them both to be willing to learn."

He laughed aloud, and reached ahead to hold the door to the stairwell open for her.  "Quite true, quite true."

They quickly walked down the stairs and out into the cold night.  The sky was still overcast, but clearing, and there was a bitter wind blowing across the city.  Ezra was suddenly very grateful for her thoughtfulness and quickly pulled on the gloves.  He looked up to see her grinning at him, and he raised an eyebrow then looked down at the coat.  "Okay.  It's not quite so atrocious.  Just please, don't—"

"Tell your associates.  I know.  You have a certain image to maintain," she smirked.

He smiled back.  "Appearances are everything, my dear."  His smile turned rueful as he again looked down at what he was wearing.  "Though, if my mother could see me now, she would be simply appalled."  
  


"Yeah, well sometimes practicality takes precedent over fashion," Alex pointed out as she hitched her bag further up on her shoulder.

He laughed.  "Don't tell my mother that."  He bowed slightly and motioned in a southerly direction.  "Shall we depart?"

She shook her head and smiled at his antics.  "We shall," she said as they struck out down the street.  "Oh, and Ezra?" 

"Yes?" he looked at her questioningly.

"Don't even _think_ about trying to ditch me somewhere along the way."

He ducked his head for a moment, having difficulty understanding her firm conviction on the point, then smiled benignly.  "I wouldn't dream of it, my dear.  We are comrades to the end."

"Good."

They disappeared into the darkness.


	7. A Little Breaking & Entering

CHAPTER 7 

Orrin Travis stood outside the door to the bullpen, observing five members of his crack field team hard at work.  It was a rare sight, indeed.  JD was focused solely on his computer screen, every once in a while swiping absently at a stray lock of hair that insisted it be in his eyes.  His fingers practically flew across the keyboard.  Nathan and Buck were both on the phone, and for once, Buck's conversation was strictly professional. Nathan sat in Vin's desk chair, while Vin occupied Nathan's across from Josiah. A pile of folders were stacked haphazardly to one side of Josiah's desk as they poured over the contents of several reports, occasionally making notes or comparing a particular find to another sheet. 

 He didn't think he had ever seen Tanner so intent on paperwork before.  

He smiled a little sadly.  Usually, these men were a bunch of unruly, ill-mannered hyenas whose antics he was sure were going to drive him into retirement or a nursing home, one or the other.  But give them a case, a target, a job to do, and they focused all that energy into a single beam of determination and tenacity.  The pack of hyenas became wolves—smart, efficient, and deadly with purpose.  

It was times like this that reminded him just why he put up with this bunch of misfits and made allowances for them.  

There was no doubt whatsoever that they were the best—a well-fit machine that functioned with amazing accuracy and precision.  It was truly a sight to behold.  And they were working even harder than ever before on this case.  One of their own was missing, and no one messed with one of their brothers, even if it was the contrary, pain-in-the-a** black sheep.  

Larabee stepped from his office, an open file in his hand, and made his way to Josiah's desk.  He looked up as Buck finished his conversation and hung up the phone.  "Find anything?"

Buck settled on the corner of his desk and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  "Yeah.  Report just came in.  Giuliano Carnelli was found about an hour ago in his shop, dead.  Executed, mob style."  He looked up bleakly, resting his arm on his knee.  "The place was stripped clean—no account records, no merchandise, no prints.  And no sign of Miles Walker."

"S**t." Vin's comment rang out across the space.  He exchanged a fearful look with Josiah.  "Just what the h**l is going on here?"

"I don't know, Vin, but whatever it is, our brother is definitely up to his neck in it," Josiah answered grimly. 

The judge chose that moment to make his presence known and cleared his throat, getting their attention.  "Boys," he greeted.

Chris set the file down on the desk and stood up straight, nodding at the man before him.  "Judge."

The AD stepped further into the room, a serious expression on his face.  "Any word from Standish?"

Chris grimaced.  "No, sir."

"There's something else I found out from DPD," Buck broke in.  "There was nothing to show that Miles Walker had even existed.  They talked to Carnelli's wife and family, his employees, and his friends, and no one's heard of him."

"But how's that possible?  We know that Ezra's been working there for the last month!" JD pointed out.

"It means Ez's cover's been blown, kid," Vin answered grimly as he tossed his pencil on the desk and sat back in his chair.

Silence filled the room as the implications of Vin's words sunk in.  "D**n," Buck muttered, sliding off his desk.  He closed his eyes for a moment then suddenly whirled around and punched the wall to his left fiercely, leaving a hole in the plaster.  "D**n it all to h**l!"

"Something happened at that hangar last night.  I want to know what it was," Chris ordered.  A cold rage filled him and he welcomed it, for it covered the hopelessness, the feelings of failure, and the surprisingly acute sense of loss and grief that threatened him.  

When had that slimy snake of a southerner gotten under his skin?  

His eyes narrowed in purpose.  "We are going to find him, even if we have to turn over every rock in Colorado to do it!"

The judge slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat and nodded his approval.  "Let me know if there's anything I can do.  Standish may have been a first class pain in the a**, but he was a d**n fine agent.  Bring him home, boys."

He turned to leave, but paused at the sound of the phone ringing in Chris's office.  They all looked at each other in dread as Chris reached over Josiah, hit his extension, and picked up the phone.  "Larabee."

Vin felt his stomach plummet as he watched Chris suddenly pale and ball his free hand into a tight fist.  He closed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth.  '_No.'_ he thought frantically as he unconsciously gripped the armrest of his chair.  '_Not this.'_

"Do they need us to come down there?"  Chris's hoarse words pulled his attention back to the leader.  The blond's face had become like granite, cold and determined.  "Let me know when they get the results then….No, you were right to call me now. We needed to know….Let me know what they confirm….Yes….Yes….Thanks, Wade."  Chris hung up the phone and clung to the edge of the desk for a moment, his head down and his eyes closed.  "They found a body in the hangar about thirty minutes ago," he said quietly, finally looking up at his men.

The only sound in the room for several moments was the snap of the pencil in Josiah's hand being broken in half.

"Is it—" Nathan started, but Chris cut him off.  "They don't know for sure yet.  The body was badly burned, unrecognizable.  They've taken it down to the lab to ID it.  They'll let us know what they find."

"It wasn't him," JD muttered, slamming his hand palm down on his desk.  "It wasn't Ezra."

"Kid," Buck reached to lay his hand on JD's shoulder, but JD shook it off fiercely and stumbled up from his chair and away from the ladies' man, shaking his head in denial.  "No, Buck!  It wasn't him.  It wasn't!  I don't know where he's at right now, but it wasn't him!"  JD kicked at the waste basket beside his desk then ran his hand through his hair while pacing in front of the desk.  "It wasn't," he muttered.

"I'm with ya, JD," Vin spoke up in agreement, his eyes burning with conviction as he met the hopeful gaze of the youngest.  The others turned to look at him in surprise.  "Until they prove it otherwise, I'm assumin' he's alive.  And I'm gonna find him."

JD gave him a small smile, while the others looked less hopeful.  Chris finally looked up and met Vin's gaze.  '_Don't be giving up on us now, cowboy.  Ez needs us,' _Vin's ice blue eyes stared unwaveringly into his.  Chris finally nodded, then turned his attention to the rest of the room.  "Let's nail these bastards!" 

Buck grinned, but his eyes glittered with a promise of revenge.  "Oh, yeah.  We're gonna show 'em what happens when they mess with the best!"

The judge looked on in approval, glad to see the resolve, before slipping quietly from the room.  He left the bullpen and took the elevator to the garage, his steps heavy.  He dreaded going home, dreaded facing his wife.  She had a soft spot in her heart for that infuriating con man, and this would surely break it.  He finally reached his Lexus, unlocked the door, and slid into the cool leather seat.  As he pulled out of the garage and onto the busy street, he glanced at the lit office windows several stories above.  "Godspeed, boys," he murmured to himself.  

He almost felt sorry for their prey, for they surely had the hounds of hell on their trail now, and God's own retribution couldn't be more swift or brutal.

* * * * * * *

Ezra softly pushed the office door open and slipped into the darkened room, pausing briefly to get his bearings. He slid the tiny file back into his shirt pocket before flicking the small flashlight on.  "Now.  If I were of the need to conceal certain incriminating documents, where would I place them?" he wondered to himself, sweeping his gaze steadily over the room.  

The small, seedy bank had only the barest security, which he had no trouble at all bypassing.  He had shaken his head in mock dismay as he had easily disabled the cameras and the locks.  "Disgraceful.  Simply disgraceful," he muttered to himself.

He quickly found the manager's office and made short work of the simple door lock; thus, he now stood in the small, wood paneled room.  A large mahogany desk stood in the center, taking up most of the space.  Low book shelves lined either side of the window directly behind it, and two wing-backed chairs stood in front of it.  A few cheap prints graced the walls.  Overall, the office was sparse, bland, and threadbare.  He found a coat stand behind the door beside a tall, black filing cabinet.  A quick search of the cabinet proved fruitless, as did the desk.  He moved to the paintings, hoping to find a wall safe, but was not surprised that he didn't.  '_Of course, this couldn't be easy,'_ he grimaced.  

He sorted through the small collection of books on the shelves, but yielded no results that way, either.  He checked the carpet, looking for loose corners and hiding places underneath, but again came up empty.  He moved out into the small reception area and began sorting through the tellers' drawers.  A quick glance at his watch had him picking up his pace.  He had already been inside for five minutes.  

This was taking too long.  

He stopped in the middle of the room and turned slowly, studying the room until his gaze fell on the tall, solid door leading to the vault.  '_Of course,_' he groaned.  It was the safest place in the entire bank!  

He made his way to the door and stepped back, looking at it intently.  Like most banks, it had an electronic lock that could only be opened at a certain time each day.  '_That wouldn't work,' _he thought.  '_Banning would have to do the deed after hours and would need access to the vault.'_  He glanced back at the office door then rolled his eyes at himself.  _'He was the manager, you imbecile.  He had access to the combination!'  _He looked from the vault door to the office and back again.  

Banning had struck him as a nervous little man and a worrier, the kind of person to torture themselves with what if scenarios and spend all their time creating contingency plans.  Therefore, it wouldn't be beyond the realm of possibility that he would keep the combination in his office where he would have immediate and easy access to it.  

Ezra went back to the office and again searched through the desk, this time looking for anything that resembled a pass code.  The desk again proved fruitless. Headlights flashed in the window, and he quickly flattened himself against the wall until the car passed.  He then turned his attention to the bookshelves.  

Several volumes were devoted to banking, accounting, and finances, with a few economic books as well.  One whole shelf was filled with black binders containing documents pertaining to the institution going back several years.  One book in particular caught his attention.  On the bottom of the shelf, sandwiched between two hefty tomes on financial law, was a small, worn paperback copy of Adam Smith's _Wealth of Nations_. 

He reached for the book quickly and set it on the desk.  He focused the flashlight beam on its pages as he slowly flipped through it, looking for anything out of the ordinary.  Finally, he found what he was seeking, written in the margin three quarters of the way through the book.  A small key marked the spot.  He picked up the key and shook his head in disproval.  "Quite slipshod, Mr. Banning," he whispered out loud as he put the book back in its place on the shelf and strode back to the outer room.  "Very unprofessional.  It is indeed miraculous that you have not already been burglarized."  

He found the safety deposit box keys locked in one of the teller's drawers and activated the computer above to complete a quick search of the files before he made his way back to the vault.  He punched in the code he had quickly memorized and smiled when the door clicked and slid open a few inches.  He began to whistle to himself softly as he pulled the door completely open.  

He found himself standing inside a small room with a low ceiling.  Safety deposit boxes lined both walls, while another large metal door took up the back, probably leading into the actual storage area for the money.  He quickly found the box the small key from the office was listed for, and inserted it and one of the teller's keys into the twin locks.  The drawer slipped from its place and he set it on the small table in the back before rifling through the contents.  His smile grew wider as he scanned the pages in his hand then flipped through the small black book at the bottom.  

A noise at the door startled him, and the gun he had taken from the hangar leaped into his hand.  Alex, who had been standing watch outside, didn't bat an eye at the gun pointed at her heart.  "Someone's coming!" she hissed breathlessly.  "We've got to get out of here!"

He tossed the keys to her to put back while he stuffed the book into his pocket and the papers back into the box.  He slammed it back into its spot on the wall before exiting the vault and shutting the large door as quietly as he could.  He and Alex then moved as one toward the only door out, but froze as they heard a soft click indicating that the outer door was being opened.  He looked around the room wildly, searching for a place to hide, then jerked his head toward a small doorway across from the vault and pulled her toward it.  

They slipped into a closet-sized room just as the inner door opened.  Soft moonlight filtered in through the drive-through window lining the entire outside wall.  Ezra crouched down and flattened himself along the doorway, gun in hand, as he gazed out into the room.  Alex crouched down on the opposite side of the opening from him, watching him fearfully, her heart hammering in her chest.  She held her breath, afraid of making even the smallest of sounds.

Two men entered the room cautiously, guns glinting in the faint glow from the street light outside.  They had instantly gone on guard when they found that the security camera had been de-activated.  They split up and began to search the place, shining their powerful flashlight beams into every possible hiding place.  One of the men aimed the light into the room Ezra and Alex were hiding in, and Ezra shrank back quickly, narrowly avoiding discovery.  The gunman seemed satisfied that the room was empty and turned away to look beneath the tables in the tellers' cages.  Ezra leaned back against the wall and let out a silent breath of relief.  

That had been much too close for his comfort!

He turned back to the opening as the two gunmen met in the center of the room.  "There's no one here, boss," one of them spoke.

"I still don't like it," the other growled.  

Alex's eyes widened and she and Ezra looked at each other.  '_Vitalis!'_ she mouthed at him, and he nodded. 

"Maybe that camera just quit working.  The doors are all locked, and I don't see any sign of anyone else being here," the first man continued.  "It's just a coincidence."

"Coincidences don't exist in this business.  Get you're a** back to that door and keep watch.  The last thing we need to do is attract the local heat."  Vitalis motioned his accomplice away as he entered the office and went directly to the small shelf.  He opened the book to the correct page then paused.  "The key's missing!" he hissed. 

Ezra looked down at the small key he had not had time to replace.           

The guard looked at his boss.  "Did it fall out?"

Vitalis searched the area, pulling the other books off the shelf and sweeping his hand along the opening, but finding nothing.  "S**t!  I don't have time for this!" he cursed.  

"The little weasel must have taken it with him," the other man decided.

Vitalis's eyes narrowed as he scanned the room once again.  "Maybe," he muttered.  He rummaged around in the tellers' drawer for the bank's set of keys and then punched the code into the vault door.  It opened with a click, and he quickly entered the room and went directly to the correct box.  He inserted the bank key into its appropriate place then used a lock pick to open the other side.  The box was once again pulled from its resting place and the contents removed.  He scanned the pages quickly before stuffing them into his pocket.  Satisfied with what he found, he put the box back and left the vault, motioning to the other man to follow him.  "It's all there.  Now, let's get outta here."  They put the keys back and quickly left the building.

Ezra and Alex waited several minutes before leaving their hiding place.  They cautiously slipped out of the building, reactivating the camera on their way out, and scurried down the street.  They walked a few blocks before turning into a small, dark alley.  Alex leaned back against the brick wall and let her back pack slide to the ground at her feet as she ran a hand over her forehead and sighed in relief.  "Let's not do that again, okay?" she pleaded.  "I think I lost a good ten years from my life when that guy flashed his light at us!"

Ezra grinned back at her as he pulled the collar of his jacket up against the wind.  "I completely agree with you.  I do believe my heart ceased palpitating for a moment."

She stood up and straightened her jacket before grabbing her bag.  "Well, we'd better be getting out of here if we want to be back into the city tonight.  The last bus runs at one."  She cautiously stepped out of the alley, casting furtive glances up and down the street before finally deciding that the coast truly was clear.

Ezra grimaced as he followed her down the street.  "I so detest public transportation," he complained.

She glanced back at him and smiled with a twinkle in her eyes.  "Yeah, well it sure beats walking back.  Though if you prefer wandering down the streets of Purgatorio at this time of night, be my guest."  She casually stepped off to the side out of his reach before she made her next comment.  "Of course, with that new beard you got going and that smell, you could fit right in with the rest of the bums down here," she teased.

He glared at her in indignation.  "I do _not_ stink.  Any unpleasant odor arising from the vicinity of my person would be coming from this coat that _you_ purchased."

"No one said you had to wear it," she shot back as she side-stepped a pole supporting a non-working streetlight.

His step faltered to a stop and he looked at her incredulously.  "Then what exactly was the subject of that debate back at the library?" 

She shrugged as she turned around to face him and continued down the street backwards.  "Oh, that was about you _accepting_ the coat as a gift from a friend.  We never said anything about you actually _wearing_ it."  She bumped into another pole and quickly faced the right direction, unable to suppress the mischievous smile that spread across her features.

He sighed and quickened his pace to catch up with her.  "Your logic simply astounds me."

Alex laughed.  "I'll take that as a compliment."

"That was not the intent," Ezra pointed out.

"It got lost in the interpretation.  Now come on.  It won't be that bad.  You survived the trip down here."  She pulled him to the bus stop.  They could see the dreaded mode of transportation as it turned a corner and came closer.  It stopped with a loud whoosh as the air brakes were engaged and the door was opened.  She climbed up the steps and handed the driver the correct amount of change.  Ezra stopped at the opening, and she turned back to him, motioning him to follow her.  "Come on.  It's nearly empty.  You can handle a short right back into the city.  You'll even get an entire seat to yourself," she smirked at him.

"Oh, joy," he sighed sarcastically, but followed her onto the bus.  The door closed behind him and the bus pulled out into the night.


	8. Rosie's

CHAPTER 8 

"Rosie's All-night Diner?"  Ezra asked in disbelief.

He and Ally stood outside a truck stop on a street corner in the industrial part of town, not far from Interstate 25.  Though it was nearly two o'clock in the morning, the parking lot was filled and the diner hopping with activity, as seen through the large picture windows lining the lower level of the two-story building.  The parking lot was cracked and worn, the building desperately in need of a fresh coat of paint, and the windows needed cleaned, but despite its appearance, the small place did exude a sense of warmth, a friendliness.  

That didn't mean he wanted to enter the place, though, especially considering the size and occupations of most of the current patrons.  

"Yeah.  Doesn't look like much, but they do have the best flapjacks in town.  Besides, it's about the only place in town open at this time of night that I'm willing to visit,"  Alex explained as she pushed against the glass door.  Pausing in the doorway, she looked back at him and motioned him to follow.  "Come on in.  I want out of the cold, and I'm starving."

Ezra raised an eyebrow skeptically, but shrugged and followed her inside. 

It _was_ cold out tonight, and if anything, he would welcome the chance to get warm.  

The inside of the diner was laid out in classic style, with the door opening in the center of the room, a series of booths lining the outside wall underneath the windows and a long, tall bar opposite.  At the end of the bar to the left was a swinging door leading back to the kitchen, and ninety degrees to it, at the end of the aisle, was a short hallway leading to the restrooms.  A small table sat in the space between the back wall and the last booth opposite the kitchen door.  The floor tiles, cracked and faded, were black and white checkered, the bar black edged in chrome, the stools likewise.  The booths were a burnished red color, the vinyl split and torn in many places.  The smell of cooking grease mingled with cigarettes lingered in the air, and a jukebox behind the door blasted classic rock and roll and old country, adding to the noise.  Despite its well-worn and rundown appearance, though, the inside of the building was surprisingly clean.  "Is this place always this busy at this time at night?" Ezra shouted above the noise as they paused a moment inside the entrance to adjust to the light and the atmosphere.

Alex turned back to him with an amused smile hovering at her lips.  "Actually, yes.  Rosie does her best business between ten and seven.  She attracts the over-night haulers; has a reputation of being a great place to stop for a break, or to stay at while waiting on the next load to be finished."  She pointed across the parking lot, back into the city.  "The warehouse district is just down that way, well within walking distance.  The truckers have been coming here for years.  Believe it or not, this place is well-known all over the west.  Rosie keeps it clean and friendly.  And she don't mind the truckers parking their rigs in her parking lot for a quick nap, either.  She won't stand for trouble and will kick out anybody who tries anything, no matter who they are.  Even the street gangs won't mess with her."

Ezra looked at her, a half smile quirking his lips as he unbuttoned his coat.  "Is that so?"

Alex grinned back.  "You better believe it.  Just wait until you meet her.  You'll understand."  She led him down the aisle toward the table across from the kitchen door.  She was stopped several times by patrons' greetings.

"Hey, Cat!"

"How ya doing?"

"Where 'ave you been, lately?  Been a while since we seen you around these parts." 

"Good to see ya, kid!"

Ezra followed behind, surprised at how well-known and well-liked his companion seemed to be.  Alex smiled at them, answered their questions, and teased many of them right back, seemingly right at home.  Some of the well wishers eyed him critically, a hint of warning in their gaze.  It was quite obvious that they wouldn't stand for any harm to come to the girl.  

One man in particular stood up from his booth as they passed and stepped between them to tower menacingly over him.  The huge man stood nearly six foot five, with massive hands and bulging arms nearly splitting the rolled up sleeves of the red flannel shirt he had on.  His unruly red hair peaked out from underneath a grease-stained red and white ball cap, nearly reaching the collar of his shirt to join with the abundance of chest hair sticking out from underneath the thin white t-shirt that showed above the open top two buttons of the shirt. Several days worth of beard stubbled his face and neck and his brown eyes flashed at the intruder warningly. Ezra looked the man up and down warily and took a small step backwards, getting the distinct impression that he was facing a grizzly bear.

L**d, the man made Josiah look like a child!  

"He with you?" the man-mountain asked gruffly over his shoulder and pointed his chin at Ezra with a malevolent glare.

Ezra swallowed nervously and smiled wanly up at the man as he tried to compose his most pleasant, most non-aggressive expression on his face, holding his hands out from himself in a non-threatening pose.

Alex rolled her eyes and laughed at the look on Ezra's face as she patted the man on the arm.  "Relax, Jake.  He's a friend."  

The man called Jake didn't back down, but stared at Ezra intently.  Despite the day's worth of beard, the dirty hair, and the worn jeans and coat, the small man before him still bore an air of confidence despite the docile stance.  He was obviously from the upper scale part of town; definitely no street bum.  He looked as though he would be much more comfortable in a fancy suit, driving a fancy car, and drinking champagne in some fancy restaurant up town.  A thought came to him suddenly, and he glanced back at the girl worriedly.  "You haven't started doing _that_, have you, kid?  You know if you needed the money, you could have asked me."  He looked from one to the other of them in concern.  

Ezra's eyes widened as he realized what the man was implying, and drew himself up in offense.  "Good sir, I can assure you that I would never take advantage of a young lady in that capacity!" 

"Jake!" Alex tilted her head and huffed in exasperation.  "That was an insult!  You know me better than that!  You know I'd never resort to doing that, no matter how broke I was!  I told you, Ezra here is a friend.  A _friend_, not a client!  Now sit down and let him by," she commanded, giving the trucker a little push on his arm.

The man looked at her and, seeing the truth of the statement in her eyes, reached a massive paw up to rub at the back of his head sheepishly.  "Sorry, Cat. I didn't mean nuthin' by it.  I's just worried, that's all."

She smiled and patted him on the arm.  "It's okay.  But really, Ezra is a friend. Trust me.  He's one of the good guys."

Jake took one last look at Ezra, then nodded and stuck out his hand in greeting.  "Jake Terry.  Sorry about that.  I's jes' don't wanna see the Cat here in trouble, ya understand?"

Jake's hand completely engulfed his, and Ezra felt as though his hand were caught in a vice and that his arm was going to be pulled out of socket before he managed to free himself from the grip of the other. He rubbed his now bruised appendage carefully and smiled weakly at the man.  "Quite alright, sir.  But I promise you, I have no intentions of harming the girl."

"Alright, then," Jake nodded again before finally sitting down and turning back to his meal. 

 Ezra quickly scurried past the booth and followed Alex back to the small table, glancing over his shoulder at the large man in caution and a bit of amusement.  "Interesting friends you have, my dear," he commented as he took a seat with his back to the wall, giving him a clear view of the room beyond and the parking lot outside the window.  

"Who, Jake?  Aw, he's harmless, really," Alex assured him as she sat down with her back to the kitchen door.  "He wouldn't hurt a fly—unless, of course, you threaten his family."

"Family?"  He cocked an eyebrow at her as he shrugged out of his coat and gloves.

She grinned back.  "Yeah.  A real pretty little slip of a wife, and five kids.  He lives over in the eastern part of the state.  I met his wife once back in the fall, when she accompanied him on a haul.  She was in town to do a little Christmas shopping."

Ezra eyed her in disbelief as he leaned on his elbows on the table.  "I suppose it takes all kinds," he muttered, shaking his head in amusement.  

He was about to ask her another question but was interrupted when a short, chunky, older Negro woman in an old work shirt, jeans, and a stained, dingy gray apron burst out of the kitchen door, heading straight for their table.  "Cat! Lloyd told me he saw ya come in.  Land sakes, child, I haven't seen ya in a month of Sundays!  Where've been?"  She gushed, enveloping Alex in a smothering hug.

Alex gently freed herself and smiled up at the woman ruefully.  "Ah, Rosie, it's only been a couple of weeks.  I've been around."  She nodded toward Ezra, who was watching the scene in enjoyment.  "I'd like you to meet a friend of mine."

The older woman looked over at him, her eyes scrutinizing him for a moment before she smiled and held out a worn hand.  "Rosie Blaine, owner of this here eatery."

Ezra stood up from his seat, giving her his most charming smile, and took the offered hand, kissing it gently.  "Ezra.  Delighted to meet you, my dear lady.  Do I detect the flavor of Alabama in your speech?" he questioned.  When she nodded, his smile grew wider.  "What a pleasure to meet a fellow countryman in such distant environs!" he flattered as he sat back down.

Alex rolled her eyes while Rosie just blushed, patting back her steel gray hair in its bun in embarrassment.  "Oh, my, but you are a charmer, and a southern gentleman to boot!  Wherever did you find this one, girl?"

Alex met Ezra's eyes and smirked.  "Oh, found him hanging around the airport the other night.  Took pity on the poor thing.  Couldn't let him freeze."

Ezra shot her a look of feigned annoyance across the table, but she just grinned back at him impudently.  

"At the airport?  Did you hear about what went on over there the other night?"  the older woman questioned, completely missed the by-play in front of her.

Alex's head shot up and she exchanged an uneasy glance with Ezra before turning her attention back to her friend.  "I heard something about it," she ventured vaguely.

"Wasn't it terrible?" Rosie went on.  "I heard this evening that they found a body in the wreckage!  Poor thing, what a horrible way to go," she clucked her tongue.

Ezra sat back in his seat with a neutral expression on his face, though his eyes showed his concern as he glanced at Alex.  "Yes indeed, ma'am.  Did they know the identity of the poor, unfortunate soul?" he asked.

Rosie shook her head.  "No, they didn't release a name.  The news only said that they'd taken the body down to the coroner's office for an autopsy."

"Ah, I see," Ezra nodded at her, glad that he still had a little time to finish his investigation and wondering what his teammates were doing about the events.

Were they even worried about him?

Rosie looked from one to the other a bit suspiciously, but let it go.  "Well, enough about that.  Cat, I'm really glad to see ya.  Carla called in sick, and I'm short handed enough as it is without losing her too.  You think you can give me hand here tonight?  I'll just need ya until seven.  Roy'll be in by then.  I'll pay ya good," she asked anxiously.

Alex opened her mouth to agree but then looked back at Ezra and paused before answering.  "I don't know, Rosie.  Ezra here—" she started, but he cut her off.

"It's quite alright, my dear," he reassured her.  "It won't be for that long, and I am a bit tired.  I frankly would enjoy a moment of respite in such a warm, comfortable atmosphere, if it would not be any trouble?" he smiled questioningly at the older woman.  He had caught the look of hope that flashed in the girl's eyes and realized that she probably desperately needed the money.

"Oh, heavens, no!  You wouldn't be any bother!  You can stay as long as you want!"  She smiled warmly at him then looked back at the girl in hope.  "So will you?"

Alex studied Ezra for a moment before smiling up at her softly.  "Sure, Rosie, I'll be glad to help."  She made to stand, but the older woman pushed her back down.

"I thank you kindly, girl, but not before you eat something first," she ordered firmly.  "Look at you.  A good gust of wind could blow you right over!"

Alex grinned at her in mischievousness.  "Yeah, Rosie.  They're called tornadoes.  And they've been known to blow a few houses over as well, so I don't think they'd have any trouble with me."

The older woman smacked her lightly on the cheek, affection and a good deal of exasperation shining in her chocolate eyes at the girl's giggle.  "Smart mouth.  I won't be taking any sass from you tonight.  You're gonna eat something first.   It won't hurt Lloyd to wait a few more minutes." She pulled a small order pad out of the pocket of her apron and a stub of a pencil from behind her ear.  "Now, what will you be having?"  She looked from Alex to Ezra.

"How about a hot cup of tea and a chicken sandwich for me." Alex answered.

"Rabbit food!" Rosie exclaimed in protest.  "Land sakes, child, you're a fence post now as it is!  You need some meat on those bones!  I'll bring you one of my specials, on the house, and I won't take no argument from you!" she stated firmly and wagged her finger in the girl's face as Alex opened her mouth to do just that.  She put her hands on her hips.  "You're doing me a favor tonight and have earned it."

Alex sat back and grinned with a shake of her head, knowing this was one argument she had lost before she even started.  "Whatever you say, Rosie."

The woman looked over at Ezra, sizing him up, and frowned.  "And I'll bring you one, too.  I declare, but you are nothing but skin and bones, yourself.  Do you ever eat?"

Ezra opened his mouth to defend himself, but she cut him off with a no-nonsense glare that dared him to defy her.  "I won't be taking no back talk from you, neither.  You just sit back and let old Rosie take care you. Now, how do you like your coffee?"

He looked at Alex, who just smiled at him ruefully, and lifted his shoulder in a defeated shrug, a contrite smile hovering at his lips.  "Black, with a little sugar, if you please," he answered meekly.

Rosie nodded at them as she finished scribbling on her pad with a flourish.  "Ya'all just sit tight.  I'll be right back."

Ezra shook his head in amusement as she pushed through the door, yelling something at the cook all the way.  "Delightful woman.  I can take it you've known her for a while?" he asked his companion as he sat back in his chair.

She smiled at him and scooted her chair around a little so that she could lean her elbow on the table top and see the room more clearly.  "Since about September."  She didn't offer a more detailed explanation, though, and her face grew serious as she twisted to get a good look at him and changed the topic of conversation.  "So, what do you think about the body in the hangar?  How long will it take before they ID it as Banning's?"

Ezra sighed and rubbed his face wearily.  "Probably not until someone notices that Banning is missing, which won't happen until Monday at the earliest.  He lived alone.  But it doesn't really matter—with the discovery of only one body, Randolph will certainly realize that we are not among the deceased."

"What do you think he'll do?"

His hand stopped at his chin, and he thought for a moment.  "He'll definitely tighten his security and clear up any loose ends.  Normally, I would conjecture that he would abandoned all current dealings and lay low for a while to evade his implication in the sordid events, but if this coming meeting with the European supplier is as important to him as it sounds, he won't be able to afford that.  That meeting is our ace in the hole, so to speak."

"_If_ you can find out where and when it is," Alex observed.  

He nodded in agreement.  "The exact location is the most important priority right now.  You did say that the supplier, this Hammings, was coming next week to examine their operations before agreeing to enter a partnership of any kind?"  She nodded and he crossed his arms thoughtfully.  "That would mean that they will hold the meeting at their base, then, instead of at a predetermined location.  That does make our jobs much easier."

"How's that?" she asked, looking up at him in confusion.

"Vitalis is a very paranoid individual. He never performed business transactions of any kind at their base of operations; instead, he always set up a separate neutral location to receive his goods, such as the hangar last night, and would later move them to the appropriate location.  He had the tendency to change locations and times at the last minute, and always kept the merchandise in scattered, separate areas, making it extremely difficult to set up any kind of raid."  He tapped his lips with his finger for a moment.  "But if this new partner is insisting upon seeing the base, then it becomes much easier to plan an assault as we don't have to worry about a sudden change in location.  And the opportunity to not only seize the goods but to actually raid this base of operations before anyone had a chance to destroy the records—it's simply priceless!"

"But you still don't know the time," Alex pointed out.

"No, but once I find the location, I will contact my teammates and set up surveillance," Ezra answered.  "It will then just be a matter of having the men on standby."

Alex nodded.  "Alright.  But you still don't have any way to directly prove Randolph is involved except through our word.  Why tip your hand and contact your boss now?" she asked.

Ezra pursed his lips in a frown.  "Because time has become a rapidly depleting commodity.  I had hoped that my remaining as the loose cannon, so to speak, would keep Randolph unsettled enough to provide me an edge, but this meeting with the European supplier may be the only vulnerability available to exploit.  We may be forced to reveal what we have to my superiors and hope it is enough to convince them of his culpability in favor of netting the entire organization before Randolph has time to formulate an escape."  His mien took on a foreboding shadow.   "We must find a way to tie Randolph to this organization and to bring him down in this operation, or my life and yours are forfeit.  Our word alone will not be enough to implicate someone in his position in society.  If we fail and he escapes arrest, he will not allow us to continue on this plane of existence with the knowledge that we have against him."

She ran a hand down her face and grimaced.  "Now isn't that cheery news.  Just what I needed.  Either bring the bad guy down, or have a mob boss on my tail.  You know, Louisiana or maybe even Miami is looking pretty good right now."

He quirked an eyebrow at her statement.  "So what is keeping you here?" he asked curiously.  "As you pointed out, they have no way of finding out who you are.  If you were to walk away right now, you would be free and clear."

 She shook her head and sighed.  "And I told you, I can't do that.  My conscience would never let me have any peace," She smiled up at him with a shrug.  

He returned the smile with a decidedly devilish gleam and stretched out his legs under the table to cross his ankles.  "A conscience can be quite bothersome, indeed," he declared casually as he re-crossed his arms.  "I am quite pleased that I don't suffer from that particular malady.  The preservation of one's own comfort should always be foremost sought after.  Really, there is no gain to be had in self-sacrifice except trouble."

Alex snorted at the comment and met his eyes with a shake of her head.  "I know several people who would disagree with you."  Her eyes twinkled, indicating that she didn't believe a word he said about that particular philosophy or his statement of belief in it.  "There sure are a lot of religions out there that teach otherwise."

"Ah, the 'it's more blessed to give than to receive' genre?  Personally, I would prefer to 'receive'.  It is so much more lucrative and satisfying." he smirked.

"Oh, I don't know," she argued as she sat back and stretched out a bit herself, "giving can have its own rewards.  And my way has great future benefits," she answered merrily. 

Ezra's grin belied the innocent look he had pasted on his face.  "So I've been told.  But I seriously doubt that my future is quite that bright.  I'll enjoy my benefits in the here and now, if you don't mind."

She shook her head again and laughed.  "Sure you will.  And you're working as a special agent for the government for the money, too."

"But of course!" he declared with raised eyebrows.  "Why else does one seek employment of any kind?"

She sat back with a disbelieving smirk and crossed her own arms.  "Uh-uh.  So tell me, just how did you wind up in the ATF instead of on Wall Street?"

"That, my dear, is the million dollar question," he answered glibly. "And I would greatly appreciate it if you would explain it to me, if you happen upon the answer."

           Their conversation was interrupted at that moment with Rosie's return through the kitchen door, and Ezra's eyes widened at the sight of the tray stacked high with food.  "Good l***!" he exclaimed in disbelief.  

The plate she set before him was piled high with waffles, flapjacks, sausage and bacon, eggs, potatoes, and ham.  She set a large pitcher of syrup down between the plates, along with a small bowl of sweet butter and strawberry jam and a basket full of piping hot biscuits.  She finished it off with a large bowl of sausage gravy and his coffee and Alex's tea. "Now, eat up!" she commanded.

He looked up at Alex, but she just shrugged and picked up her fork to dig into the mass in front of her.  "You'd better get started.  Rosie will stand here until you eat every bite," she motioned toward his plate with her fork, a smile on her lips.

 He smiled wanly up at the older woman, then reached for his fork and attacked his own mound.

* * * * * * *

 A few hours later, he sat back from the table where he had been studying the book he had taken from the bank and comparing it to the ledger, making careful notes on various discoveries.  He was pleasantly stuffed and didn't think he would be able to eat another bite for at least a week.  

But l***, was it good!  He had not eaten such a scrumptious home-cooked meal in ages.  

Rosie definitely knew how to fill a man!

His gaze swept over the nearly empty diner as he finished off the cup of coffee beside him.  The place had remained busy until nearly six o'clock that morning, keeping Rosie and Alex scurrying from table to table, filling orders and refreshing coffee mugs.  

He had been impressed as he watched the girl deal with the customers.  She always had a pleasant smile and a kind word for everyone, but let no one take advantage of her.  It was obvious that she knew what she was doing and had a knack for putting those around her at ease.  She always kept herself busy, never once sitting down for a break.  When she wasn't waiting on customers she was washing down the counter or sweeping the floor, busing the empty tables, or helping out in the back.  

He knew she must be tired—after all, it had been a long day, and she had little sleep the night before, but she continued to work hard.  He found himself wondering about her.  How did she end up on the streets?  What was she running from?  She was so different from many others in the same situation. How did she keep her faith in such trying circumstances?

He looked up when Rosie stepped through the kitchen door and headed for his table, two steaming cups of coffee held in her hands.  She set one down in front of him as she fell into an empty chair, sighing in relief.  "It has been a busy night!"

Ezra nodded in agreement as he took a sip of the fresh cup, relishing the robust flavor complimented with a hint of chicory—something he hadn't had in ages but enjoyed immensely.  

Rosie knew how to make coffee, too!  

The older woman took a drink from her own cup, watching as Alex finished wiping off the bar and headed for the back to start on the mountain of dirty dishes waiting to be cleaned.  She smiled softly.  "She sure is a hard worker, that Cat.  And such a nice girl!  She'll bend over backwards to help someone else.  My customers just love her!"

Ezra leaned forward on the table on his elbows with his hands wrapped around his mug.  "Then why don't you give her a job, instead of using her on standby?" he asked curiously.

Rosie turned to him with a sigh.  "Oh, don't think I haven't tried!  I've offered to put her on the payroll permanently several times, but she won't take it.  Keeps saying she's only in the area temporarily.  I tried to tell her that I'd use her until she decided to move on, but she just refused.  Kept telling me to give the job to someone who really needs it, as if she don't!" she snorted before looking down at the mug in her hand with a suddenly troubled expression.  "I think she's in a whole passel of trouble, if you ask me," she said softly.

"Do you think she's running from the law, maybe?" Ezra asked casually.

Rosie looked up sharply at that, her features decidedly fierce in her defense.  "Never!  That child don't have a crooked bone in her body.  There's no way she'd be involved with nothing illegal.  I simply won't believe it!" she declared firmly.

Ezra nodded but followed through in his role as a devil's advocate.  "But sometimes people make mistakes.  And you haven't known her for all that long.  The girl you see before you now may very well have been a completely different person in the past."

  She fixed him with an icy glare in response, challenging him to contradict her.  "Mister, I've been in this world a long time, and I've met all kinds of people.  And it don't matter how long I've known that girl, I _know_ she would never do something like that.  You take a good look at her.  Criminals and crooks don't have that kind of peace about them, don't have that kind of innocence. She don't have a guilty look about her, neither, like she would if she'd done something she wasn't proud of.  And she's got too much compassion to her to have done anything wrong.   That child has a heart of gold, I'd stake my life on it!"

"Then why do you think she's here now?  Why is she on the streets?"  he asked.

She looked back down at her cup, fingering it while she tried to come up with a valid answer.  "I-I don't know," she finally admitted.  "I know without a doubt she's not running from the law, but she's running from something.  She gets this look sometimes, you know?  And she's always watching over her shoulder, like she's afraid someone's going to sneak up on her. She don't get overly friendly with anyone.  Now I know, she talks to the customers, smiles a lot, and teases some of the regulars, but she don't get real close.  My customers love her, and some of them would fight the devil himself for her, but she still don't seem to trust us.  I tell ya, whatever it was that scared that poor child, it must have been something mighty evil."

She leaned forward on her crossed arms on the table and looked back up at him coolly, warning showing clearly in her eyes.  "I really set store on that girl, mister.  And I don't want to see any hurt come to her.  Something sure hurt her in the past, something that's done her a lot of grief.  You can see it in her eyes.  I won't let anything or anybody else add to that grief if I can help it.  You understand?"

Ezra met her gaze with a most sincere and serious look.  "I won't hurt her, madam," he assured her softly.

She searched his face for a moment, trying to decide if he was being honest, before coming to a decision with a nod.  "Alright, then."  She sat back with a relieved grin and took a sip of her drink.  "So, Mr. Ezra something-or-other.  Just what is it you do, and how'd you hook up with Cat?"

"She saved my life," he answered quietly, the events of the previous evening coming to the forefront of his memory.  He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, trying to decide how much to tell her.  

He was not a trusting person in any definition, and had spent his entire life using words and sleight of hand to re-direct conversations away from himself, carefully cultivating a mask to shield the tender heart hidden inside.  To trust meant to be betrayed, and he had already had one taste of that bitter poison.  He did not care for another.  

And yet, he found himself wanting to be honest with the woman.  She had a no-nonsense bearing, was someone who looked at life with practical, honest eyes, un-jaded but un-idealistic.  She saw the world for what it was and accepted it as it was, living her life to the best of her ability in spite of it.  She took people for what they were and expected no more and no less, even from him. 

There were so few people in this world like her, and he respected that.

'_L***, I'm getting soft.  First, I find myself trusting a street kid I've barely known twenty-four hours, and now I find myself wanting to confide in this woman!  What next?  Confessional with Josiah?_  He grimaced at the thought, but heard himself giving her an explanation anyway.  "I was in that hangar last night, undercover, and was compromised.  I would be dead now, if she had not chosen to interfere," he continued, focusing his intense green eyes on her dark, careworn ones, silently asking for her discretion.

She took in a sharp breath and slowly released it.  "Undercover?  Then you're a cop?"

He smiled at her as he slouched back in the chair a little and crossed his ankles under the table.  "Something like that, though I would appreciate it if you wouldn't advertise that knowledge."  He raised his mug to his lips for a sip.

She returned his smile slowly and nodded a bit smugly.  "Well, I will surely do that.  But to be honest, I didn't think you were one of the bad guys anyway,"

He raised a questioning brow, pausing in mid-drink.  "Oh?"

"No sir.  You were with Cat, and I know she wouldn't have anything to do with someone who wasn't on the right side of the law," she answered resolutely.  She leaned forward and dropped her tone just a bit, as though she was about to share a cherished secret.  "But you must understand, we was all surprised to see you come in here with her tonight."

He cocked his head at her, not understanding.  "Why?" he asked in confusion.

She gave him a knowing look and sipped her coffee.  "Because Cat never, ever brings anyone with her.  She's always been alone, for as long as I've known her.  She don't have no close friends at all.  Now don't get me wrong, she's a real friendly girl, real likable, but like I said before, she keeps to herself.  She don't hang out with anyone, she don't go to the usual places people in her circumstances do, and she don't ever talk about herself.  So it was real surprising for her to bring you in here tonight."

Ezra nodded, having gotten the same impression from the looks of the patrons.  "Why do you call her Cat?" he asked suddenly in curiousity.

The woman leaned back in her chair and laughed heartily.  "The first time I saw her, she was out in my back ally, taking care of this mess of kittens whose mamma had gotten killed on the road.  She took care of them for nigh on two weeks, before they's big enough to go without a mamma.  My cook noticed her too, and started leaving little scraps out for her to feed them. 

 One night, Lloyd—that's my cook—was taking the garbage out to the dumpster and ran into some kid higher than a kite.  I don't know what that kid was on, but he was pretty far gone, hallucinating and such.  Thought Lloyd was a enemy or something, came at him with a 2 x 4, hit him on the arm, nearly breaking it, and getting a lick in on that thick skull of his.  Would have beaten him to a pulp too, if Cat hadn't interfered.  

She stepped between him and Lloyd and talked him down.  I ain't never seen the like.  Well, that kid, he ranted and raved for a while more, but he finally gave her the board and continued on his way.  She helped Lloyd to the back door and knocked to get my attention.  When I let them in, Ol' Lloyd smiled at her and said 'Rosie, our mamma cat's done picked up another stray.'"  She smiled fondly at the memory.  "We sat him down and got him fixed up.  I wanted him to go home, but he was worried about me, since I was short-handed that night, too.  I took a good look at Cat, seen how skinny she was, and offered her a meal as payment, but she wouldn't take it.  Then Lloyd got the bright idea of letting her work in the kitchen that night for dinner.  She agreed to that, so I put her to work cleaning floors, busing tables, and washing dishes. 

That girl worked harder than I'd ever seen!  She was such a help that night!  I fed her up the next morning and then asked her to come back the next night, since Lloyd was going to be laid up for a while with that arm.  She agreed, and it just started from there.  Lloyd started calling her the Mamma Cat, and the customers shortened it to Cat.  It just stuck."

Ezra chuckled at the story, having no trouble believing it from what little he had learned about the girl.  "She does has an affinity for picking up strays, doesn't she?  Though the moniker 'Cat' is quite ironic," he observed humorously.

She looked at him in confusion.  "Why's that?"

"Because she told me her name was Alex, or Ally for short," he answered before sipping at his coffee again.

The old woman caught the joke and laughed.  "An Ally Cat!" she exclaimed with a clap of her hands.  "It's perfect!"

"It does fit her quite nicely, doesn't it," Ezra agreed with a wide smile.  He cocked his head in inquisitiveness as a question come to mind.  "By the way," he ventured, "what happened to the kittens?"

Rosie chortled.  "She set them up in a box at my front door, pretty as you please and told their sad story to every customer I had.  She gave every single one of them away within a week!  All eight of 'em!  Even talked 'Ol Jake Terry into taking one."

Ezra raised an eyebrow at that.  "Yes, I've met Mr. Terry," he commented wryly.

She waved a hand in the air in dismissal.  "Now Jake can come across a mean something or other, being all big and gruff like he is, but he's really a sweet boy.  It was quite a sight seeing him with that tiny kitten balanced in the palm of his hand. He took it home to his little girl.  Said she loved it."  She chuckled to herself quietly.  "So, her name is Ally.  I'd never have guessed it in a million years."

Ezra shook his head in amusement, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he sipped his coffee.  "How much do you know about Cat?" he asked as he set the nearly empty mug back down on the table.

Rosie frowned a little at the question. "Not a whole lot.  Like I said, she don't talk about herself much.  Shoot, I didn't even get her real name until you just told me.  I don't know where she comes from or what her story is.  She's a fair hand at the cash register, real good with numbers and letters, and reads real good, too.  I've seen her with a book many a time, some of them school books, but I don't know if she's in school or not, or even how old she is."

"She's an orphan, from somewhere in the south, North Carolina or Kentucky, from what I could gather from a previous conversation," Ezra observed.  "She has the right accent for it."

Rosie thought for a moment, then nodded.  "You know, you're right.  I hadn't noticed it before, but she does have a soft southern drawl to her, don't she?  And an orphan, you say?  Oh, the poor child!  I wonder how she got way out here?"

"I don't know, madam, but I would like to find out.  Can you tell me anything else?  I'd like to help her if I can."  Ezra was a bit surprised at that sudden desire, but then nodded to himself.  

He _did_ want to help her, and not just because he owed her for saving his life.  

It was true, he had only known her for a day or so, but he was really beginning to like the girl. There was something about her—it was as though he had known her for years instead of mere hours.  Maybe it was the old, wise eyes that seemed to read his very soul, eyes deep and knowing, yet with a touch of kindness showing from their depths.  He enjoyed her company and the banter between them.  She had a quick mind and a perception that most people never achieve and a sense of purpose and a maturity well beyond her years.

"I'm afraid you know more than I do," Rosie answered with a regretful sigh.  She then looked at him seriously, her larges eyes focused intently on his face.  "Mister, you do what you can to help her.  Something evil's after that girl, and I'm scared she's going to have to face it alone.  Don't let her face it alone.  That child is something special and I don't want to see anything happen to her.  Please, sir, she needs someone in her corner."

Ezra reached across the table to gently take her calloused hands between his and met her concerned expression with a confident one of his own.  "I'll do all that I can to help her, Ms. Blaine," he promised, his eyes reflecting his determination.

She held his gaze for a moment, then nodded once, patting his hand gently.  "Thank you.  I've taken a real shine to that child.  She's a good girl, and deserves a break."

The object of their discussion came through the kitchen doors that minute, breaking the tension.  "Rosie?  We're done back there.  Roy and Betty will be here in a few minutes, and Lloyd's agreed to stay here until they get in."

Rosie looked up at her with a smile and stood up from her chair.  "Then let me get your payment, dear," she said over her shoulder as she pushed through the kitchen door, reappearing a second later behind the bar.  "Thank you so much!  I don't know what I would have done without your help!"  She opened the cash register drawer and pulled some bills from it, folded them up, and handed them to her.  "Now, you take this, and let me have Lloyd make you up a doggy bag to take with ya."

"Now, Rosie, you don't have to do that," Alex protested as she slipped the bills into an inner pocket of her jacket.

"Hush now, child!  It won't take but a minute.  It's food that would just be thrown out anyway.  No sense in letting it go to waste.  You wait right there."

True to her word, she returned a few minutes later with a huge brown bag and a thermos.  "Now you take this with you.  You can bring the thermos back to me later."  She patted Alex on the cheek, smiling fondly at her and Ezra.  "You two take care, ya hear?  And keep safe!  That goes for both of you."  She reached out to shake Ezra's hand and held it a moment in her warm grasp.  "Thank you for the conversation, Ezra.  It's so nice to talk to a fellow southerner once in a while."  

Alex raised an inquiring brow at him, but didn't say anything as he lifted the older woman's hand to his lips and kissed it gently.  "I assure you, dear lady," he replied with a smile and patted the hand, "the pleasure truly was mine."

Rosie took her hand back with a bright smile, blushing again as she absently swiped at a loose strand of hair.  "Oh go on, you charmer," she scolded him. 

Ezra stood back with a large grin on his face, while Alex just rolled her eyes in good-humor.  "Thank you for the great meal, Rosie, and the food here," she lifted the brown bag up slightly as she turned to the older woman.  "You really didn't have to go to all that trouble, though."

Rosie waved a hand in the air dismissingly.  "It tweren't no trouble at all.  Now.  You two get on out of here.  And come back soon, ya hear?  Don't be waiting no three weeks again!"  She shook her finger at the girl in warning.

Alex grinned at her as she backed down the aisle toward the entrance.  "No, ma'am, I won't.  And thanks again."  She waved as she pushed through the door with a jangle of the bells hanging from the enclosure and stopped to hold it open for her companion.  

Ezra turned to follow her, but paused as Rosie called his name.  "You are welcome here anytime, Ezra," she said firmly with a knowing look.  "And if you ever find yourself in trouble, you can come here.  I'll do all I can to help ya. I mean it, now.  You come here directly.  You ever need any help, you just ask for 'Ol Rosie Blaine, and you'll get it.  You remember that."

Ezra smiled at her and nodded in gratitude.  "yes, ma'am, I will.  Thank you, kindly, my dear."

Alex eyed him as he stepped out into the cold, faint light of coming dawn and they started down the street.  "I noticed you and Rosie were having a pretty good conversation going.  What were you guys talking about?" she asked casually, slipping her hands into her pockets as her breath crystallized in the frigid air in front of her.

Ezra adjusted the collar of his coat up a little higher and pushed his hands deep into his own pockets as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye in amusement.  "Ally cats.  We had a delightful conversation about ally cats."

She paused for a moment in confusion, not able to figure out why on earth they would be talking about that topic.  "Ally cats?" she mumbled to herself softly.  She looked up to see him getting ahead of her and ran to catch up with him.  "Hey, wait up!  What about ally cats?"

Her only answer was a brief laugh as they disappeared into the shadows.


	9. Field Trip

Oops! 

Thanks for pointing the hangar thing out—I didn't catch it (actually, I never even realized there was a spelling difference!) and it's one of those things that spell check doesn't catch.  I think I have them all fixed now—than goodness for find and replace :)

Thanks for the great responses from all of you!  I'm so glad you're enjoying it, and it's really encouraging to me!  Now—on with the show….

__________________________________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 9 

Vin was stepping from his jeep just as Josiah and Nathan pulled into an empty space a few cars down in the ATF parking garage late that evening.  He had spent the day in Purgatorio talking to contacts and trying to find anything he could about Carnelli's mysterious supplier, the explosion at the airport, or their missing agent.  

He'd had no luck.  

Josiah and Nathan had taken another trip to Fieldman Contracting while JD had again talked to the airport personnel and Buck had accompanied Chris to a meeting with Dawson and Lewis, hoping to keep the blond from committing murder.  

Vin did not envy Buck his job.  

He leaned back against the tailgate of the jeep and waited a moment for the others to catch up.  "Find anything?" he asked, falling in step with them as they headed for the elevator.

Josiah shook his head.  "Nope.  We talked to several people at that construction company from the janitor up to the chairman of the board, and got the same story as yesterday.  No one heard anything."

"Any chance they're covering something up?"

"If they are, then they're doing one h**l of a job," Nathan spoke up.  "What about you?  Did you learn anything?"

Vin shook his head as he pushed the elevator button.  "Nothing.  Either this guy's real good at hiding his trail, or he's got everybody down there spooked."

Josiah sighed, stepped onto the carriage when it arrived, and held the door back for his companions.  "Then let's go see if the others have had better luck."

They entered the bullpen a few minutes later to find JD hard at work on the computer and Buck leaning against Vin's desk behind him with his arms crossed, staring intently at the screen over the boy's shoulder.  Chris was nowhere to be seen. 

"Buck," Vin greeted with a nod as he passed the duo heading for his desk.  He draped his jacket across the back of his chair and moved up to sit on the corner of JD's desk facing the larger man.  "How'd it go?"

Buck grimaced and shook his head in distaste.  "About as well as you'd expect.  Lewis was being his usual charming self, and Chris was being Chris.  Me and Wade had us a time keeping them two apart."  He shifted his stance and crossed one booted foot over the other.  "Lewis is botching the investigation—no news there.  I tell ya, that man couldn't find his a** if someone took his hands and put them there!"

"What about Dawson's people?  What have they come up with?"  Josiah asked as he took his seat at his own workspace.

"Not much," Buck answered with a shrug.  "They identified some of the weapons—this was definitely our meet—and verified that a gas fire is definitely what started it all.  No more bodies've been found, though."

"So we're still at square one, then" Nathan sighed as he hung his jacket neatly on the rack behind the door and walked to his desk.

"I guess that means you guys didn't have much luck today, either, then." Buck observed.

"Nope," Nathan shook his head as he pulled his chair out and sat down heavily, turning so that he faced the other agent.  "The people at Fieldman's confirmed that they had a shipment that night, but no one who was there noticed anything out of the ordinary until after the explosions."

"I got the same thing from the airport people.  I'm guessing they've got someone paid off," JD spoke up, finally turning his attention to the conversation going on around him.

"I agree.  Someone had to have noticed that shipment coming in," Josiah nodded sagely.  He propped his feet up on his trashcan and absently twirled a pen through his fingers.  "Whoever this supplier is, he had to have had someone looking the other way."

JD pushed his chair back from his keyboard and rolled his shoulders forward, trying to loosen the kinks in his neck.  "I've spent all afternoon pulling up info on the staff on duty that night, but haven't come across anything out of the ordinary yet," he shook his head as he reached into a desk drawer for a package of fun-size Twix® candy bars he kept hidden there.  With his attention no longer completely focused on the computer, he finally took notice of his stomach's loud complaints at missing lunch.  He was starved!  "I don't know if we're on the wrong trail, they haven't been paid yet, or they've got their tracks covered pretty well, but I'll keep looking.  If it's there, I'll find it!"  He frowned as he dumped only about twelve small candy pieces out onto his blotter.  He hadn't realized his stash was getting that low—he'd have to remember to restock it soon.  He unwrapped a bar and popped it into his mouth.

"We know ya will, kid," Vin patted his shoulder with a smirk before he deftly swiped a handful of the little chocolate bars from off the desk and quickly scooted out of JD's reach as the boy let out an indignant yelp and swiped at him.  He unwrapped a bar and stuck it into his mouth as he resettled himself in his chair and propped his feet up on his desk, grinning cheekily at the angry young man.  

"What about you, Vin?  You find out anything?"  Buck asked, silently laughing at the two.  He took advantage of JD's distraction and reached over the boy's shoulder to grab his own handful of the candy before he too retreated to the safety of his own work area.

Vin shook his head as he bit into another of his pilfered chocolate bars.  "If anyone down there knows anything, they're not talking."

"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I still think this Fieldman's is still involved somehow," Nathan declared, ignoring the antics of the three. 

_Children—the whole lot of them!_ He sighed wearily to himself. 

"But we've been over their accounts and everything.  There's nothing there to go on," JD protested with a glare at the thieves.  He stared morosely down at the two remaining bars, and his stomach rumbled grouchily.

He was still hungry, dang it!

"There was nothing we could see.  But you have to admit, all those accounting errors seem mighty suspicious.  And I just don't buy the inexperienced staff excuse," Nathan crossed his arms.  "And why do they keep their accounts at that bank in Purgatorio, anyway?  Yeah, they may have started out there when they first began the company, but they've been pretty successful lately.  Why not move the accounts to a better bank, instead of one that keeps threatening to go under?  I think we need to look at them a little more closely."

Josiah rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  "You do have a point, brother.  Which is why I put in a call to the bank manager yesterday."

"What did he say?"  JD asked as he stuck the wrappers into the now-empty bag and balled it up.  He started to toss it into his wastebasket, but caught sight of his three-hole punch sitting beside his monitor and got an idea.  He quickly grabbed the punch and emptied the contents into the bag before rolling it up once more.  With an evil grin, he threw it at his roommate, scoring a direct hit on the side of the man's face, causing him to drop the chocolate bar that he was raising to his lips on the floor and showering the man with the little bits of confetti.

Buck looked up at him with a growl, but JD just sat back in his chair and intertwined his fingers behind his head with a triumphant smirk.

"He wasn't there.  His secretary said he wouldn't be in that day, that I should try back Monday.  Wouldn't tell me where he was, either.  I tried his home number several times too.  Always got the machine," Josiah continued, watching the by-play in amusement.

"Does look awful suspicious, don't it," Buck observed as he dusted himself off and bent down to pick the chocolate up off the floor.  He popped it into his mouth and chewed it slowly with plenty of noises of pleasure, trying to get a rise out of the young man but failing. 

_Your time's a-coming,_ he glared at the kid.

_Just try it, Old Man,_ JD grinned back.

Nathan cringed and almost gagged as he watched Buck eat the candy from the floor.

Chris's office door suddenly banged open, and they all looked up at their leader as he stopped in the doorway.  He noticed the white bits of paper caught in Buck's hair as well as the look of promised revenge on his old friend's face and the dare gleaming in the young man's eyes, but chose to ignore it all.

If he didn't see it happen, then he wasn't cleaning it up.

"Just got a call from forensics about that body," he announced gruffly.

Fear filled the others at the news, and they glanced at each other uneasily.  "And?"  Vin asked quietly as he studied the troubled expression on the blond's face, dreading the answer but hoping for a miracle.

Chris ran a hand through his hair and let out a long sigh as he finally looked up to meet their eyes.  "It wasn't him.  They don't know who it was yet, but it definitely wasn't Ezra."  

The tension in the room suddenly lightened and several 'Thank G**'s' and one 'I told you so!' punctuated the air as they all went limp with relief, the melancholy and sense of forebode rolling off their shoulders at the news.  

When the noise died down, JD's voice rang out across the room in confusion as he asked the now-obvious next question.  "So, if that wasn't Ez, then where is he?"

Chris's eyes narrowed and his face took on an expression of cool determination and not a little anger as he leaned against the door facing.  "That," he said as he folded his arms across his chest, "is what I'd like to know."

* * * * * * *

Tony Vitalis shifted uneasily as he stood in front of his employer's desk, watching the man casually sort through the papers he had taken from the bank and from Banning's home office Friday night.  He glanced out the window for a moment, studying the open fields, the tall pines beyond, and the  mountain peaks rising in the distance—anything but the unreadable expression on Randolph's face.

Randolph had come to the small ranch house they used as the base for their illegal operations that afternoon after Sunday morning church services and lunch with one of his business partners to receive an update from Tony personally.  He had not been pleased with his overseer's performance of late, and had made it abundantly clear that Tony was to clean this mess up and fast or he would do it himself—starting with his foreman.  He finally tapped the pages back together and laid them neatly on the desk before looking up at the man before him.  "And this is all of it?" he asked mildly.

Tony's attention snapped back to his boss and he nodded.  "Yes sir.  That's everything that Banning had in his home office and in the safety deposit box except for the ledgers lost in the hangar."

Randolph fixed him with a cool, calculating stare.  "Are you sure?"

Tony swallowed.  "Yes sir."

Randolph continued to look at him for a moment before tapping the pages with his forefinger and nodding once.  "How far back does the other night's loss set us?" he changed the subject.

"It was just the preliminary shipment, so while the lost goods are going to cost us, it doesn't put a strain on our contracts at the moment.  I'm using what we have stored right now to fill contracts and am already setting up a deal to replace that.  The damage was minimal," Tony answered confidently.

"Will this incident affect the meeting with Hammings next week?"

"No sir," Tony shook his head.  "While Hammings was concerned, I assured him that we have this under control and that it was a one-time occurrence and wouldn't happen again.  He has made arrangements to be in Denver Thursday evening.  I will meet him at the airport and get him settled in that night and bring him out here Friday morning.  He wants to see our account history, our stores, and our distribution network before the meeting with the board that afternoon.  And he wants you to give the tour personally."

Randolph nodded and sat back in his chair.  "Yes, that was already expected.  I will meet you here Friday morning.  The rest of the board members will arrive that afternoon, and if all goes well, we will be celebrating our new partnership that evening." He paused.  "I want nothing to interfere with this deal, Tony, especially the ongoing investigation into the events of Thursday night."

"You have nothing to worry about, sir.  They haven't found anything to lead back to us," Tony assured him.

"What about the questions into Fieldman's?  I am very concerned about that.  They may be guessing at this point, but that is getting a little too close to home," Randolph pointed out.

"They've found nothing.  There is nothing in the Fieldman's accounts to point to us.  They were only interested in the company because of the shipment we had come in next door that same night."

Randolph's eyes narrowed and he fixed the man before him with a stern expression.  "And that is also a point of concern.  What were you thinking, having an arms shipment come in at the same place next door to a legitimate shipment for the contracting company?  Fieldman's must be kept above reproach.  You know that," he chastised his man.

"I had no choice," Tony quickly defended himself.  "Donnell called for the change in time and location at the last minute.  It was the only place I could set up in the given time.  The shipment for Fieldman's was supposed to have come in earlier and completed long before the deal with Donnell.  It was a fluke that they both arrived so close to each other."

Randolph folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward.  "Yes, but that 'fluke' has garnered us Larabee's attention."

"I told you, sir, don't worry about Larabee or his team.  They have nothing," Tony protested.

"That may well be, but don't underestimate them either.  Whatever else they may be, they _are_ good at what they do.  Very good.  They don't give up easily, and with one of their agents missing, they will be more tenacious then ever.  I do _not_ want Larabee breathing down my neck, especially not now."  Randolph's gaze turned decidedly icy with the clear warning in his words.

Tony had to fight to keep from flinching at the deadly glare.  "I can handle Larabee," he promised.  "He's not in charge of the investigation at the hangar—special agent Martin Lewis is, and I can promise you that you will have no problems with him.  He's an incompetent fool and won't find anything.  And as for Larabee's visit to Fieldman's, I handled that personally, and I promise that he found nothing and will find nothing.  Everything that could possibly lead back to us is there in front of you.  Larabee's team is nothing more than a minor annoyance."

Randolph sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him thoughtfully.  "And what of Standish and that child?  Only one body was found, so they must have escaped somehow. They can identify me, Tony, and I cannot have that," he warned.

Vitalis rubbed his eyes and shifted his stance before focusing his gaze on his employer's tie, refusing to meet his eyes.  "I'm working on that, sir.  As you know yourself, he hasn't been in contact with Larabee.  But we'll find him sir, don't worry.  He's out there, and he'll have to surface sometime.  We'll get him."

Randolph raised an eyebrow and stood up to move around the desk and reach for his coat hanging on the hook beside the door.  "Yes, but time is a luxury we do not have," he stressed as he slipped into the designer winter wear.  "Those ledgers went missing _before_ the fire.  I can only assume that either Standish or the child has them.  I cannot stress to you enough how damaging those documents can be.  They must be found and destroyed, and Standish and his accomplice must be taken care of before this meeting with Hammings.  They could jeopardize everything, and I want them neutralized." 

Tony nodded in agreement.  "They will be, I promise you.  I will see to it personally," he assured the man.

"You do that," Randolph commanded as he straightened his collar and scarf and placed his black fedora onto his head firmly.  He pulled his car keys from his pocket and moved to pass the other man, but stopped and looked at him with a thoughtful expression.  "Something tells me that if we find Standish, we will find those ledgers and the child.  You have a week, Tony.  I want results soon, or I will take matters into my own hands.  And you do _not_ want me to do that," his eyes turned icy and his expression malicious.

Tony flinched and looked away quickly, focusing his gaze on anything but the deadly glare of his boss.  "No, sir," he mumbled.  "I'll take care of it."

Randolph studied him intently for a moment but made no further comment as he turned to exit the house.  Tony followed him out the door and they paused on the small porch.  "Do not fail me again, Tony," he stated quietly without turning around as he pulled his smooth, calfskin leather gloves on.  "I will not be offering a third chance."

Tony shivered in the slight breeze that blew across the porch from the open fields to the left of the house and from the implied warning.  "I understand, sir.  I'll get this straightened out," he promised.

Randolph pulled the driver's side door of his Mercedes Benz open and gave the man on the porch one more look of warning before sliding into the leather seat and starting the vehicle.  Tony shivered again and rubbed his arm as he watched the car disappear over the rise in the distance.  After a few minutes, he shook his head and re-entered the house, slamming the door behind him.

* * * * * * *

Ezra snapped one last picture of the departing vehicle, making sure to get a clear shot of the license plate, before lowering the camera and grinning at the girl beside him.  "And thus we have our link from Randolph to Vitalis," he stated smugly.

Ally removed the headphones from her ears and popped the small tape out of the recorder in her lap, holding it up for his inspection and returning his smile.  "Hook, line, and sinker, as the saying goes," she returned.

They had spent the previous day poring over the ledgers and book from Banning's office as well as the documents on Fieldmans Construction and a map of the area, narrowing down the list of possible locations for Randolph's base of operations until they came to the warehouse outside of Golden.  The warehouse occupied a lot adjacent to a small ranch on the outskirts of the town in a very rural and secluded area.  The records they found indicated that while the warehouse was directly off the main road, an abandoned ranch house and outbuildings sat on the opposite side of the property, separated from the main highway and the warehouse by a few miles of forest.  Ezra realized immediately that the ranch was a perfect location for the headquarters of the illegal operations and began making plans for a surprise visit.  

A quick stop at a pawn shop provided him with the rudiments of what he needed for surveillance, including a camera with a telephoto lens, a parabolic microphone, and recording equipment.  A visit to a pharmacy nearby provided the blank tapes and film.  At the drugstore counter, Ezra added a pack of playing cards to their purchase on impulse.  "What are those for?" Alex asked curiously.

"It has been my experience that stake outs are impossibly long and dreary.  We must have some way to alleviate the boredom," he grinned at her.

Another stop at Rosie's diner that evening provided them with a vehicle.  Rosie had readily agreed to let them borrow her kaki-green, 1979 Oldsmobile Delta 88 with no questions asked, provided that they return "Ol' Bessie" in top condition.  Ezra grimaced as he slid into the driver's seat of the huge vehicle, muttering a multitude of complaints to himself about the car, the things he had to endure for the sake of his job, and life in general, even as he smiled his most charming smile through gritted teeth at the short woman standing in the diner's doorway.  

Alex grinned at him cheekily as she tossed the blankets that she had retrieved from the chapel along with her black bag into the large back seat and climbed into the front beside him, settling the sack of sandwiches and two thermoses filled with hot coffee and soup that Rosie had insisted they take with them on the floor between her feet.  "It's better than the city bus," she teased.  

He shot her a glare worthy of Larabee as he put the car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot, but she just laughed at him.

They arrived at the warehouse a few hours before dawn, hid the car a couple of miles further away along a service road off the main thoroughfare, and hiked onto the ranch.  Ezra was a little leery of a "jaunt through the dark," being no outdoorsman in any sense of the word, but Alex assured him that she could get them there.  When he asked her how she was so sure that she wouldn't get them lost, she answered "Grandpa was a woodsman," and started off through the trees.  

Ezra followed reluctantly, making a note to himself to ask her more about her fascinating paternal relative later.  

True to her word, she got them within sight of the old ranch house before they encountered the first of the security measures, which Ezra disabled easily.  A quick peak in the window of the old barn standing behind the house proved without a shadow of a doubt that they were in the right place, and they slipped inside to get a closer look at the various illegal paraphernalia that filled the building.

Just as they were ready to leave, they heard a car pull up outside and quickly made sure that all signs of their presence were gone before they exited the building through a back door.  They hid in the shadows of the barn and watched as Vitalis slammed shut the door of a small pickup truck and gave some orders to the man who greeted him before stomping into the house.  A few minutes later, a light came on in the front room and Vitalis could be seen through a dirty side window, leaning on an old desk with a cell phone held to his ear.  They waited a few moments until the guard left and quickly moved to the house, taking up a position outside the window.  Ezra focused on listening to what was going on inside while Alex stood at the corner of the house a little further away but still well within ear-shot, keeping alert for any sign of trouble.

From this location, they were able to hear every word of the phone conversation Tony had with Randolph arranging the meeting for later in the afternoon.  Though he had originally planned to return to the city after their brief scout of the ranch, Ezra realized that this was an opportunity he could not afford to pass up and decided to wait until that meeting before returning to Denver.  He and Alex moved back into the cover of the trees and searched around a bit until they found a perfect hiding spot with a clear view of the front of the house and the side window before she returned to the car for the blankets and the thermoses and he set up the recording equipment and prepared the camera for long distance shots.  The first faint rays of dawn were creeping over the mountains as they settled down to await Randolph's arrival.

It was well after three in the afternoon before their quarry made his appearance, pulling up to the house in a shiny silver luxury SUV.  Tony met him on the porch, and, after a few words of greeting, the two men entered the building.  Alex manned the parabolic mike and the recorder after a few instructions on its use from Ezra, while he settled down beside her on the small grassy knoll with the camera in hand, ready to take plenty of photos of the meeting.

As Randolph's vehicle dropped out of sight, Ezra removed the film from the camera and pocketed it with the other two rolls he had taken and the cassette tape while Alex packed up the blankets and the recording equipment before they began the trek back to their vehicle.  They arrived at their destination forty-five minutes later, dumped their equipment into the back seat, and quickly climbed into the car, pointing it in the direction of the city.  "So, what now?" Alex asked.

Ezra removed a roll of film from his pocket with his left hand and fingered it absently as he steered the vehicle one-handed down the empty road.  "We return this behemoth to Ms. Blaine then make our way to my townhouse.  I have the equipment needed to develop these photographs there.  And then," he placed the film back into his pocket and gave her a conspiring grin, "we call in the reinforcements."


	10. Home Sweet Home or Coming Together

As you wish, here's chapter 10 **grins**…. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 CHAPTER 10 

Alex stepped out of the taxi and waited patiently as Ezra paid the fair.  After returning Rosie's car and a quick meal at the diner, Ezra had called for a cab to take them to his townhouse in the southwestern suburbs of the city.  She had questioned the return to his home, but he had just smiled and said that sometimes the best place to conceal oneself was in plain sight and that home was really the last place anyone would think that he would go.

She had been properly awed as the cab pulled into the drive of the housing complex and stopped outside the small convenience store located to the right just within the gate.  On the other side, a one story brick building, built in the same traditional architecture as the rest of the buildings in the complex and clearly labeled 'Business Office', stood dark and silent, while a two story, more modern building rose up behind it, well lit and very active at six-thirty on a Sunday evening.  The sign on its front proclaimed it to be the recreational center.  Behind it, off in the distance, the shimmering waters of a small lake danced in the fading colors of the sunset, while the mountains towered majestically in the backdrop. She could just make out a playground and park lining the water's edge. To her right, the drive wound its way up a small knoll, lined on both sides by stately homes.  The landscaping was manicured and well kept, even though it was still the middle of winter.  All in all, the place spoke of prosperity and affluence, and she eyed her companion curiously, wondering how he came to live here.

Ezra led her around the back of the recreation center to a semi-concealed path leading along the water to the wooded area that extended three-quarters of the way around the lake at the far end of the park.  He had her wait there for him while he climbed the grassy hill to the last apartment building and, after pulling the gun from his pocket, disappeared around the side.  A few minutes later he reappeared at the corner and with a low whistle motioned for her to join him.

He led her across the patio of the right-most unit on the end of the building and after checking for tampering, he quickly unlocked the sliding glass door, entered the pass code into the alarm that had still been set, and led her into a short hallway that ran parallel to the patio.  A small half-bath occupied one end of the hall to the left of the patio door, while the kitchen stood at the other end. The hall then took a ninety-degree turn to run the length of the unit to the front. Alex stayed close to the patio door and glanced back over her shoulder at the silent playground and calm lake scanning the area to be sure they hadn't been followed while Ezra crept through both floors and the basement garage of the dwelling, ensuring that no surprises awaited them.  "We're alone," he announced as he came back down the stairs from the second floor a few minutes later, un-cocking the gun and slipping it back into his pocket.  "There is no surveillance in the front, either, but we will keep the lights down, just in case."

Alex nodded and followed him into the kitchen, where he pulled the window curtains shut then flipped the light above the stove on.  In the faint glow, she could see the dining room across a bar and a small foyer through the doorway leading from the dining room to the hallway.  Ezra adjusted the thermostat and the heating system kicked on in response, filling the air with a soothing hum and a promise of warmth soon.  She followed him into the dining room where he pulled the drapes and turned on the desk lamp before setting the briefcase on the table.  He then turned to her with a smile. "Welcome to my humble abode."

 "I'm impressed," she said as she looked around, noting the fine mahogany dining room set and the marbled counter tops, ceramic floor tile, and state of the art appliances in the kitchen. 

He took his coat off and headed for the foyer and the closet underneath the stairs directly across from the front door.  Alex followed behind him and stopped in the doorway of the living room.  Light from the street lamp on the corner spilled in from the large bay window overlooking the street and in the soft glow, she could see two leather recliners sitting in front of the window and a small fireplace on the opposite wall.  Wooden floors lined the hallway and the foyer, and even in the dusk, she could tell that the soft blue carpet of the living room was thick and plush.  Ezra hung the coat on a hanger and placed it in the very back of the closet then turned and, noticing her observations, shrugged self-depreciatingly.  "I must apologize for the condition of the premises.  It has been a while since I last occupied it for any length of time.  May I?" he asked as he reached to help her out of her jacket.

"Oh, sure," Alex answered shyly, quickly shedding the jacket and handing it to him to hang in the closet.  "And I think the place looks fine," She assured him with a smile as they walked back into the kitchen.  "Actually, it's very nice.  Comfortable.  You been here long?" 

"About seven months," Ezra answered over his shoulder and he opened the refrigerator door and frowned at the empty shelves.  "I'm afraid I have nothing in the way of refreshments to offer you except for water," he smiled at her apologetically.  "I suppose I'll have to make a quick trip back down to the store later," he said with an exaggerated sigh.  "I'll need something to appease the rabble that will be invading in a few hours."  

"I don't need anything right now, but thank you." she murmured a little shyly.

"Well, then, allow me to show you to your quarters so that you may freshen up and rest if you so choose."  He led her out the opposite doorway into the hall and up the stairs.  

They passed the master bedroom to the left at the top of the stairs and a large window overlooking the street below before turning down the hallway and entering the room opposite the master bedroom.  He pulled the thick drapes closed and turned on the small lamp on the nightstand just inside the door.  "It's not much," he explained as he went to the closet and pulled down a set of sheets and a quilt from the shelf, "I don't have many guests, and as such have never really taken the time to completely finish setting this room up."  He set the quilt down on the chair beside the closet and proceeded to make the bed.

"That's alright," Alex replied, setting her backpack on the floor and helping him with the chore.  "I'm not really particular about where I sleep as long as it's dry."

"Yes," Ezra mused, remembering the chapel.  "I suppose that would be a vital consideration."  He pulled a pillow from the closet and fitted a case over it while she spread the quilt down.  He placed it against the headboard and stood back.  "There.  Is this to your taste?" he asked.

She hesitantly sat on the edge of the bed and bounced a little then ran her hand over the quilt and the high-quality pillow case.  "It's very soft," she said, a touch of wonder in her voice.  Ezra winced a little at her words, a pang of sympathy settling in his heart.  _When was the last time she had slept in a real bed? _he wondered.

He cleared his throat.  "Yes, well, they are the best money can buy.  One should indulge in the pleasures of life once in a while," he grinned. "Now, let me show you to the bathroom." He led the way back out into the hall and passed a shut door further down.

"What's in here?" Alex asked, her curiosity getting the better of her as she pointed at the door.

"Nothing," he grinned at her, opening it for her to see.  "It's just an empty bedroom, though I have plans to turn it into an office one of these days."

"If you don't mind my asking, why does an obviously single man live in a three-bedroom townhouse?"  She peaked into the room and took note of the moving boxes stacked neatly along one wall. _Has he not had any time to unpack?_ she frowned.

"That would be because of this," he motioned her to follow him back out into the hallway and opened the French doors at the end of the hall leading to a balcony over the patio.  

Alex gasped lightly when she stepped out onto the small balcony and saw the breathtaking view of the last rays of the setting sun behind the backdrop of the majestic Rockies and its reflection on the calm waters of the lake below.  It was a picture-perfect panorama suitable for any postcard or travel brochure on the scenic wonders of Colorado.  "Beautiful, isn't it?" Ezra asked as he came up beside her.

"Absolutely," she agreed whole-heartedly.

"I was in dire need of a dwelling place on very short notice upon my arrival to this fair city, and was on my way to tour another property when I passed this complex and decided to stop.  I found that I liked the place and made inquiries into the vacancies they had.  They had this unit and a two-bedroom one across the street, but once I saw this view," he shrugged, "I knew this was what I was looking for."

Alex leaned against the rail and watched the final golden hues of the sunset give place to the dark navy of twilight.  She looked up and examined the stars that were coming out and smiled softly.  "It's so peaceful," she confessed softly.  "There's just something about the mountains that always draws me to them.  Something safe, that whispers of home.  I never feel quite comfortable anywhere else.  Of course, the Rockies and the Appalachians are two completely different things, but they both have the same effect on me."  She glanced over at him and smiled slyly.  "I guess it's true what they say," she went on.

Ezra leaned his back against the rail with his hands in his pockets and cocked his eyebrow at her in question. "And what is that?"

She gave him another side-ways glance, and her smile grew larger.  "You can take the girl out of West Virginia, but you can't ever take the mountain spirit out of the girl."

He raised his other eyebrow to join the first in mild surprise at the newest small bit of trust she had just placed in him and smiled back at her.  "West Virginia?"

She nodded as she leaned back against the rail herself and crossed her arms.  "You had already figured out I was from the Appalachian region.  Born and raised in Southern West Virginia, to be precise.  And if I hear just one hillbilly joke, I will not be responsible for my actions," she warned with a shake of her finger.

Ezra laughed and held his hands up in defense.  "No jokes, I promise, as long as you never mention redneck in my company."

"I can agree to that," she answered with a laugh of her own.  "Of course, that term has been applied to me as well."

He noticed her shiver and motioned her into the house.  "A West Virginia girl, then," he mused as he shut the door behind them and made sure the curtains on the doors were pulled tightly shut.  "If I remember correctly, that state was comprised of several rebellious counties traitorous to the glorious cause of the confederacy."

She nodded in agreement and grinned at the comment.  "Yeah, but at least we were on the winning side."

"Indeed," he answered as he led her to the bathroom immediately to the right of the balcony doors and turned on the light.  "But I've been informed that winning isn't everything." 

"If that's the case, then you can just let me win all the hands the next time we play cards," she shot back.

"But where would be the fun in that?" Ezra grinned at her as he reached into the small closet for clean towels.  "If you would like to take a shower, I have toiletries in the master bathroom.  I don't use this one very often and thus do not keep it stocked," he explained as he handed the towels to her.

"That's fine.  I have my own," Alex indicated the backpack she carried on her shoulder.  She glanced around in admiration at the marbled basin, ceramic tile, and glass shower doors as well as the thick rugs at her feet and the plush towels and wash cloths in her hand.  "It's all very nice," she complimented.

 "It suits me," he smiled.  He stepped back out into the hallway, pulling the rolls of film out of his shirt pocket.  "I'll leave you to your ablutions, then.  The washer and dryer are downstairs in the garage, if you would like to clean your clothing.  I will get these started before I change myself."  He pulled at the shirt and looked down at his dirty clothes in distaste, a grimace on his face.  "Yes, it will be quite agreeable to be back in my own clothing once again."  He sighed long-sufferingly.  "I do detest some of the situations I find myself in because of my present occupation.  Felons these days simply have no sense of fashion whatsoever."

She shook her head with a laugh at the expression on his face.  "No, I guess not."  She glanced around the small room again then looked back at him shyly.  "Thank you," she said softly.

He returned the smile with a reassuring one of his own.  "Think nothing of it, my dear.  Call if you need anything."  He turned and headed back downstairs, leaving her standing in the doorway.

Alex stood there for a moment, clutching her bag to her, feeling unsure and very out-of-place.  She looked at the shower longingly, but hesitated.  A nice, long, hot shower would be just wonderful!  It had been such a long time since she had last had one, having relied on quick cold, wash ups in public restrooms or the occasional brief sojourn at a mission or shelter.  And to have the luxury of privacy and cleanliness—it would be simply heavenly!  But a small voice inside warred with the desire, cautioning against being an imposition.  It was not her home, after all.  She shouldn't take advantage. 

She gingerly rubbed her hand on the thick towels and her resolve wavered.  

Maybe just a quick one—just this once.

Heading for the kitchen, Ezra smiled to himself as he heard the shower start.  He knew from experience the uneasiness of entering the residence of another and the hesitancy to intrude, no matter how welcome one was made to feel.  It was difficult to accept assistance from others when one had depended on one's self for so long.

He gathered the supplies that he would need out of a cabinet and headed for the small half-bath across from the kitchen to set up his darkroom.  He hastened his pace, hoping to get the chore done as quickly as possible.  

A long, hot shower sounded simply divine to him as well!

* * * * * * *

A few hours later found him stepping off the last stair, buttoning the black velvet shirt he now wore over a pair of kakis and finger combing his wet hair as he looked for his companion.  

It was wonderful to feel human again!  

He found Alex in the living room, fingering the old upright piano in the corner and examining the contents of the entertainment center. She had closed the blinds and the drapes hanging on the bay window and had turned on a lamp beside the couch on the far side of the room.  She was dressed in her familiar jeans and t-shirt, her hair again pulled back in a tight French braid that he was coming to associate with her.  "Do you play?" he asked as he entered the room.

She heard him come in and quickly turned to face him, a slight blush coloring her cheeks at having been found out.  "No—I mean, not anymore.  I used to, a long time ago," she answered with a shy smile.  "Do you?"

"Once in a while, I will indulge myself. I will admit—it is quite soothing."  He motioned to the instrument as he took a seat on the couch.  "Feel free to renew yourself with it.  It was tuned at Christmas and has a pleasant sound to it, for an upright."

She took a step back away from it and shook her head.  "Oh no, really.  I wouldn't want to impose—"

"You are not an imposition, my dear.  The instrument was made to be used, and I don't mind," he interrupted her.

She looked down at her hands for a moment, the slight blush on her face turning a bit darker.  "Maybe later," she answered softly.  She looked back at the huge television set occupying the entertainment center, as well as the high-tech stereo system resting on the shelf beside it.  "You really have a nice set up," she commented, motioning toward the solid oak shelving.

He nodded, allowing the subject change.  "As I mentioned earlier, I do enjoy the finer things in life," he grinned.

She gave his CD and movie collection another once over and smiled in amusement.  "And an interest in a wide variety of music and movies, too." She motioned towards the shelves holding an array of CD's in several genres including country, classical, rock, jazz, the blues, and even blue grass, not to mention the wide range of DVD's and VHS tapes, from action to drama to old classics, that also occupied the spaces to either side of the television equipment.

"Yes, well, I find that my taste reflects my mood," he shrugged in reply.

She smiled disarmingly at him.  "There's nothing wrong with that.  I like a wide range of styles, myself." She slipped her hands into her pockets and turned her attention to more serious matters.  "So, how did the pictures turn out?" she asked, getting back to the matter at hand.

"Very well.  They should be dry by now," Ezra answered at he climbed back to his feet and led the way back down the hall to the bathroom.  He took the 8 x 10 photos out of the dryer and began flipping through them, handing them to her as he finished with each.  "Better than I hoped, really, considering the quality of the generic film from the pharmacy," he nodded as they walked back to the dining room.

Alex tapped the photos together into a neat stack and them down on the table beside the briefcase as she took a seat at the table and turned sideways in her chair to face him.  "We have the ledgers, the photos, and the tape.  I guess all we need now are the cavalry."

Ezra smiled at her ruefully and stepped toward the two phones that sat to the side of the bar separating the kitchen from the dining room.  "Indeed.  It is time to call out the troops."  He dialed a familiar number from memory and leaned back against the wall behind him as he waited for the connection.  "Let's just hope they wait to kill me until _after_ they hear us out," he muttered to himself.

* * * * * * *

"Alright—we have two large pepperoni with mushrooms, three large super supremes, and one medium plain cheese for Nathan.  JD's right behind me with the beer and hot wings, if someone will get the door," Buck bellowed as he shoved his way through the front door of his apartment.  After spending another fruitless day working on the case, he and JD had decided that they all needed a break and made a quick food run to the little pizzeria on the corner.

"Keep it down!  Chris's on the phone," Nathan, who was sitting on one of the sofas, frowned at him, motioning toward the dark-clad leader as he paced in front of the dark floor-to-ceiling window taking up the front wall of the living room, the cordless phone glued to his ear.

"Oh, right," Buck dropped into a loud whisper as he used his foot to clean off a spot on the coffee table and set the pizzas down.

A sharp pounding on the door announced JD's arrival.  "Hey, someone open up!  My hands are full!"

Buck rolled his eyes and jerked the door open.  "Pipe down, kid!  Lawd a mighty, you tryin' to wake the dead?" he scolded.

Josiah smirked at the comment while Nathan just shook his head.  JD shoved the stack of pizza boxes over to make room for the huge bucket of hot wings and the three six-packs in his hands.  "I ain't the one who couldn't whisper in a church!" JD shot back hotly.

"Are you kidding, boy?  I can be as quiet as a mouse if I need ta be.  Just ask Courtney Stevens!" Buck answered as he took a seat on the back of the couch behind Nathan.

"You mean the sweet little receptionist for the law office across the street?  Doesn't she have four brothers all in special ops in the military?"  Josiah asked from his position in the old recliner.

"Yep, and she still lives with her old man, who happens to be a retired marine who thinks real high of his only daughter," Vin answered with a smirk of his own from his seat on the arm of the other couch.  "I heard tell he's mighty particular about who his baby girl dates."

"Sure is.  He ran off that hot shot new lawyer over there just last month.  You know, the one whose dad is a Wall Street billionaire and his mother a senator.  And it wasn't a pretty situation, either.  That boy couldn't get back to DC fast enough," Nathan grinned.

"I heard he keeps a real close eye on that girl, and that he sleeps with a shotgun under his pillow at night," Vin pointed out.

"Do tell," Josiah mused as he settled himself more deeply in the recliner.

"Yeah, well ol' pop can be a pretty sound sleeper," Buck answered.  "And let me tell ya, that girl knows her stuff!  And she's got a daring streak through her, too.  Invited me over just the other night, right under her daddy's nose.  We sure had us a time," He stroked his mustache and smiled dreamily at the memory.

"You're full of crap, Buck, do you know that?"  JD gave him a friendly shove off the couch on his way to the kitchen for some napkins.

Buck growled, reaching out to grab the boy around the throat as he passed, and, knocking his cap off, began to give him a sound noogie as the others laughed in the background.  "I'm full of crap, huh?"

"Oww, Buck, lemme go!"  JD whined as he struggled against the bigger man's grip for a moment before aiming a light kick for his shins.  Buck yelped but didn't let go.  

Chris looked up at the commotion and snapped his fingers once then held his index finger up in the air in warning while aiming a glare at the noisemakers.  Buck immediately let JD out of his grasp and shrugged an apology.  JD picked his cap up off the floor and put it back on his head, straightening the brim of it defiantly in the older man's face.  He then deftly reached up and flicked Buck on the back of head before racing for the kitchen with a laugh.  Buck let out a roar and took off after him.  

Chris rolled his eyes in a _'Why me?'_ fashion and turned his back to the room and his attention back to the phone.  "Uh-huh…Yes….Alright.  Thanks for the help, Kelly….No, no word yet…Yeah, well, sometimes no news is good news…Let me know if you find anything....Thanks."  He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tiredly as he turned the phone off and tossed it on the couch.  

"No luck, huh?"  Vin commented casually.

"No," Chris answered with a sigh.  "D**n-it!  It's been three days, and we still haven't gotten anywhere!" he growled and pounded a fist on the back of the couch.

"Hey, don't go abusing my furniture, now!"  Buck protested as he re-entered the living room, grabbed a beer, and settled back on the couch beside Nathan with a pleasurable groan as he swung his booted feet up on the coffee table and rested his arm on the back.

"Like you're going to notice one more dent in the thing," Chris shook his head.

"It's a good couch!  It took me years to get it where I like it."

"You like it as a lumpy sink hole?"  Nathan asked in disbelief.

"It's not that bad!" Buck defended.

"Brother, you could lose the city of Atlantis between those cushions," Josiah offered with a grin.

Vin's cell phone chose that moment to ring, interrupting Buck's next retort, and he flipped it open as he smirked at the argument going on around him.  He keyed it on with his thumb and gave a short 'Tanner' in the form of a greeting—and stood up sharply in surprise at the voice that answered him.  The others looked up at him apprehensively.  

"Buck, what did you do with my—" JD complained as he re-entered the room and stopped shortly as the others shushed him.

"Yeah, Cuz, I hear ya.  Been a long time.  How ya doing?"  Vin began pacing slightly back and forth in front of the couch, an intense expression on his face.  "Ya don't say?...So, how was the flight into Dallas?...Uneventful?  Good, good.  How's your brother doing?  Heard he did a number on himself in that airplane accident…Well, that's good to hear.  Sure, I'd love to get together with ya next time you're in Denver.  Where'd you want to go?...Sure, I can bring him.  He's been kind of on edge lately…Yeah, one his pups got out a couple a days ago, and he's been searching high and low for the thing….Yeah, he'll be glad to hear that…Okay…See ya soon…Yeah, you too…Talk to you later," Vin flipped the little phone shut and let out a relieved sigh as he rubbed a hand down his face.

The others stared at him, amazed at the flood of words that had just poured out of the usually reticent sharpshooter.

"Vin, was that—" JD started to ask the question that was on the tip of everyone's tongue.

Vin met JD's gaze and let a wide grin split his features.  "Yeah, kid, it was him."

Buck let out a whoop and Josiah a "Thank the Lord!"  While JD gave a shout, Nathan a laugh, and Chris a relieved sigh as he leaned on the couch in front of him and sent his own silent thanks skyward.

"Where is he?  Is he okay?  Where has he been the last three days?  Why hasn't he checked in?  Did he say what happened?"  Everyone began bombarding Vin with questions until he held his hands up in surrender.  "Hey, hey!  No, he didn't say where he's been.  He did say that his cover had been blown.  But he's fine, Nate," he warded off the medic's concern.

Nathan snorted.  "Yeah, sure.  He could have two broken legs, four gunshot wounds, and a bashed-in skull and he'd still say he was fine."

"Really, Nate.  He said he wasn't hurt," Vin assured him.

"So where is he?"  Chris asked impatiently.

Vin grinned.  "At his townhouse.  He did say that we should be on the lookout—someone could be watching.  That's what all that was about on the phone—he was afraid it had been tapped.  Oh, and he asked if someone would be kind enough to stop by the grocery store and get him some milk, bagels, cream cheese, and kiwi.  He doesn't have anything for breakfast tomorrow."

"I swear I'm going to kill him!"  Chris growled in exasperation as he pulled his jacket on, fished his keys out of his pocket, and strode purposely toward the front door, jerking it opened with force.

"So what are we standing around here for?  Let's go!"  Buck grabbed his own keys off the coffee table and headed for the door behind the blond along with the others.  JD had one arm in his jacket and was trying to pull the other arm on as he ran out of the apartment behind them, slamming the door shut as he went.  Five seconds later, he swung the door back open and grabbed the pizzas and the hot wings while balancing the beers on top before rushing back out the door, closing it with his foot.  

"Hey, Buck!  Wait for me!" he yelled as he took off down the hall.

* * * * * * *

Ezra  stood up from where he had been sitting in the faint glow of the lamp on the computer desk in the corner of his dining room and positioned himself beside the window, cocking the gun he had laying beside him.  He used the barrel to gently lift the curtain away from the window, giving him a clear view of the street below.  Alex looked up from her seat at the dining room table, where she had been organizing the evidence they had while he had been sorting through the various internet files they needed to go along with what they had in hard copy.  "It's them,"  Ezra answered, letting the curtain fall back into place as he slid the gun in the waist of his pants at the small of his back and went to open the door.  Alex stood up and shuffled the papers together a little nervously before rounding the table to stand in the doorway.

He took a deep breath then tossed a reassuring smile over his shoulder at the girl as he unlocked the door and pulled it open.  "Ah, Mr. Larabee." he greeted the man on his doorstep.

He had prepared himself for a wide variety of reactions from his boss—anger, shouting, seething rage—and he had spent the last thirty minutes composing a plausible excuse in his head—an excuse that he was not able to even begin to articulate. 

For as he opened the door, a wide smile on his face and the words on his lips, he received the one greeting that he was completely unprepared for—a good solid punch to his jaw that sent him careening back into the closet door behind him with a crash.   He slumped down to the floor, his eyes widening in complete surprise.  

Chris didn't say a word as he calmly stepped over his agent's extended leg and walked into the living room.  

Ezra reached up to gingerly touch the tender spot on his face, poking his tongue in the side of his cheek to test for any damaged tissue caused by catching the skin between his teeth and his boss's fist.  A pair of scuffed cowboy boots stopped in front of him, and he looked up into a pair of twinkling blue eyes as Vin Tanner squatted down in front of him, resting his arms on his knees.  He grinned widely at his fallen teammate.  "See, Ez?  I told ya Chris missed ya."


	11. Something to Think About

Yes—I do want to update, and now I finally have!  Sorry this was so long coming.  I was out of town over the weekend then came back only to have to prepare for three tests this week as well as write a paper.  Midterms are the pits!  But the good news is that spring break is two weeks away.  Yay!

This chapter marks the halfway point through my story—11 more chapters to go, so there's still plenty of story ahead (I warned you this was long!)  Anyway, stay with me—there will be plenty of action from here on out, along with an explanation as to Ally's past and a nice plot twist just to keep things interesting.  

Now, on with the story!  
______________________________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 11 

Vin stood up and held out his hand to help Ezra to his feet as Buck and Nathan pushed their way through the door.  "Ez!  It's good to see ya, Pard!"  Buck pounded him on the back, nearly knocking him to the floor again.

"Yes, I can see that," Ezra muttered sarcastically as he stepped aside out of Buck's reach and dusted himself off.  "I trust you ensured you were not followed?" he asked.

"Of course we did! What do you take us for?  Amateurs?"  Buck protested.

"No one followed us, and there weren't any kind of tracing devices or bugs on the vehicles either.  We came in separately to be on the safe side," Vin assured him.

Nathan immediately began giving him the once over, looking for hidden injuries.  He grabbed for his chin to get a better look at his face, but Ezra pulled out of his grasp.  "I'm fine, Mr. Jackson!" he snapped as he straightened his shirt and pulled at his cuffs irritably.

Nathan stepped back and frowned.  "No broken bones?  No cuts, bullet holes, or concussions?" the medic demanded.

"No, no, and no.  I am in perfect health, so kindly remove your hands from my person!" Ezra grumbled.

Nathan shook his head in disbelief, but seeing as there were no obvious bandages, casts, or blood dripping on the floor, he was forced to begrudgingly take the other man's word for it.  He stepped to the side as Josiah entered the small foyer, carrying the beer and the chicken bucket, followed closely by JD with the pizzas and a million questions that he immediately began to fire at the undercover agent as soon as he was through the door.  "Ezra!  I knew you weren't dead!  Where've ya been?  We've been looking all over for you!  Why didn't ya call in sooner?  What happened at the hangar?  How'd ya get here?  Are you really alright?  Where do you want me to put these pizzas?  Sorry, we didn't get your milk and stuff.  Buck wouldn't stop.  Who's the girl?"

The last question had the others swinging around in surprise.  With their attention on their missing agent, they had all failed to notice the slim young woman leaning against the dining room door facing, her arms crossed in front of her as she observed the greetings.  Her left side was ensconced in the shadows of the darkened hallway, while her right was softly highlighted by the glow of the lamp from the dining room, revealing the raised eyebrow and amused half-smirk on her lips. She straightened at the acknowledgement, but didn't make a move to step forward.

Ezra looked up and smiled as he motioned toward the girl.  "Ah, gentlemen, may I introduce Miss Alex.  Ally, my associates."

Buck was the first to move as he reached out his hand and smiled widely in greeting.  "A pleasure to meet you, Ally.  I'm—"

"Buck Wilmington," she interrupted as she took his hand and returned his smile a little shyly, finally stepping toward the group of men.  "And you are JD Dunne," she nodded at the young man, "Vin Tanner, Josiah Sanchez, and Nathan Jackson."  She offered them all a small smile and a handshake before her gaze stopped at Larabee.  The smile didn't slip, but it did become somewhat cooler as her piercing blue eyes met his and held them.  There was no fear in them—only wariness and an intuitiveness that unsettled him slightly as it was completely unexpected in one her age.  She held out her hand to him.  "And you are Mr. Larabee."

He shook her hand, noting the firm grasp, and raised an eyebrow in question.  "Ezra told me a bit about you all before you arrived," she offered in explanation.

Buck laughed loudly and put an arm around Ezra's shoulders.  "Well, young lady, Ol' Ez here tends to exaggerate sometimes, so I wouldn't put a whole lot of faith in his description.  I'm sure we're nothing like what he says."

Alex released Chris's hand but held his gaze for a moment or two longer.  "That remains to be seen," she murmured quietly, her eyes darkening slightly with an intensity that spoke of a quiet confidence, a wisdom gained from hard experience, and—was that disapproval?—before she finally broke the tension and turned to JD with a smile and offered to help him carry the pizzas into the kitchen.  

Chris couldn't help but feel as though she had just sized him up, and found his previous actions wanting.  She seemed to give him the respect his position deserved but was waiting to see if he deserved her respect for his character.  Something about that reserved blue gaze told him that she was not one to be cowed or intimidated and that she held respect only for those who earned it.  He shook his head at the thought, then looked up to catch Vin studying him and realized that he saw the exact same thing in another set of steady blue eyes.  

There was no defiance in either look, no challenge, no arrogance; only a question—did he deserve their respect?  While Ally's eyes made it clear that she was still unsure of the answer, Vin's declared that he had already found it, and they showed brightly with friendship and loyalty—along with a bit of amusement at the slightly unnerved look on his best friend's face.  He raised an eyebrow, then let his lips curve up into a faint smile that seemed to ask _what's the matter, cowboy?_  Chris just glared at him, which only amused the sharpshooter all the more.  JD's yelp from the kitchen at Buck broke the silent conversation, and they followed the others into the dining room.

* * * * * * *

Ezra leaned back in his chair with a slight smile, watching as his teammates settled in his dining room and demolished the pizzas as they teased, joked, and bantered with each other.  Even Chris had seemed to cool down somewhat from his initial anger.  Ezra's ears still rang with the quietly intense dressing down he had received earlier from his boss for working on his own and not checking in, and thus at first, he had maintained a slight distance from them all that remained unnoticed by most of the other team members, save Vin and Josiah.  

In reality, the reprimand didn't really bother him—well, maybe the words did at first, but in truth, it wasn't the first he had ever received, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, so it wasn't really an issue—and as the evening wore on, he felt himself slowly slipping back into the familiar pattern of the team and into his usual place on it.  

That place just happened to be on the fringes. 

But he could live with that—it was closer than he had ever been to what might actually be called friendship, and besides, if he were to be honest, it was probably as much his fault as theirs.  Even so, he did slowly relax—or, at least, as much as he could with six men occupying his dining room, three of which happened to be Vin Tanner, Buck Wilmington, and JD Dunne.  

He dreaded to see what his kitchen would look like once they left.

Alex stood in the kitchen doorway, watching the seven men interact with each other and keeping quietly out of their way.  She frowned as she noticed how much more closed, controlled, and reserved Ezra had become at the arrival of the others. 

Oh, he did answer them back when they teased, adding his own sly remarks and witty comments to the conversation, and a few times, he even initiated a joke at one of the other's expense, but still, he seemed to be much more guarded than he had been over the last few days.  While he hadn't exactly been completely open with her (carefree was _not _a word she would use to depict the man) he had seemed to be a little more—how to describe it?—_easy_, less tense; at least, he had been after the first few hours, anyway.  Maybe he was like her, working better one on one and tending to be quieter, more circumspect when in larger groups, but she didn't know him well enough to say for sure just yet.    

Of course, after hearing the reprimand he had gotten from his boss, she could understand the distance.  From the reactions of the others, she assumed this to be a fairly common occurrence; nevertheless, she did feel sorry for him and had finally interrupted them to announce that the pizzas were ready.  She knew Ezra respected the man—it had been obvious to her as she listened to his description of his teammates—but she wasn't sure what to think of Chris, especially with the way he greeted his agent.  The leader exuded raw power and intimidation, and she instantly saw that he was a force to be reckoned with, a man to be very wary and cautious of and that should under no circumstances ever be treated lightly, but she had yet to decide if this was because he was a tyrant and bully, or if it was because he was a great commander and leader.  She could tell right away that what you saw was what you got, and that he was a down to earth man that operated on the traditional principles of duty and honor, and that she respected.  But there was a darkness, a danger to the man that made her uneasy.  

She took a moment to study the blond more closely, to watch how he interacted with the others, trying to decide just what kind of man he was.  From what she could see, he was a born leader, with good instincts and a tenacious edge that stubbornly declared to the world that he and those under him were not to be messed with.  He seemed to be the type to lead his men through hell and would never ask anyone to do something he wasn't willing to do himself. He demanded from those around him just what he gave them, which was complete loyalty and 110% of their all.  

She nodded to herself with a hint of a smile as she came to her conclusion.  She believed that Chris Larabee was a man of character, and she could respect that and maybe even like him—but he had terrible people skills and seriously needed to be slapped upside the head once in a while to broaden his focus a bit and get him thinking straight.  

She looked again at the man in question, and laughed to herself.  

She would love to meet the person courageous enough—or would that be foolish enough?—to try it, though. 

Over pizza and beer, or in Ally's case, water, Ezra told the others what had happened at the hangar and what they had found at the ranch.  Ally was thankful that he left out all mention of the chapel and Rosie's Diner, and was a bit amused when he also forwent any mention of the bank.

"So Paul Randolph is the mastermind behind this whole operation.  I'd never have believed it," Nathan mused as he flipped through the pictures.

"It came as a bit of a shock to me as well," Ezra commented dryly as he settled in a chair at the table beside the man.

Nathan stopped at the first clear picture of Randolph and Vitalis and leaned forward as he examined it more closely.  "Hey, Josiah.  Does this guy look familiar to you?"  He passed the photograph across the table.

Josiah picked it up and studied it for a moment then looked up at the medic.  "You're right.  That's Martinez, the general manager of Fieldman's Contracting."

"Actually, gentlemen," Ezra explained, "that is Tony Vitalis, Randolph's right-hand man."

"I knew something was going on at that place!"  Nathan exclaimed as he sat upright in his chair.

"But we went over that company with a fine-toothed comb.  We couldn't find anything," JD remarked from his position in front of Ezra's computer.

"Ah, but that is because you didn't have the key," Ezra smiled as he pulled the ledgers over and walked his teammates through the evidence he had gathered.

"So Banning was working with them and was killed that night," Josiah commented when Ezra was finished.  He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him.  "That explains why I couldn't get in to see him Friday."

Buck stood up to get another beer.  "We've got 'em, then.  Hook, line, and sinker," he declared as he re-entered the room, popping open the can as he went.

"It's not going to be that easy, brother," Josiah frowned thoughtfully.  "They know we're looking for them.  And all that research we did into the construction company had to have worried them."

"But we didn't find anything," JD said in confusion as he moved to the head of the table to flip through the photos.

Vin spoke up from where he was leaning against the wall beside the window.  "Yeah, but all that digging's spooked them. And they're gonna be worried about Ez, too.  They're gonna be real careful for a while now."

"I would have expected them to just pull out and lay low for a while until this whole thing blew over," Nathan observed as he studied the books.  "From what I can see from these ledgers, they're involved in a lot of different enterprises.  They could have afforded to pull out of the gun-running business for a while." He passed the books down the table to Chris.

Josiah tapped his fingers together reflectively.  "This meeting with this Hammings guy must be huge if Randolph's willing to risk it."

"They have been keeping a very close surveillance on your investigation," Ezra noted.  "And as such, they know that your efforts have turned up nothing.  That is why they have the courage and the audacity to continue with the conference.  As long as it appears that you gentlemen are still hitting the proverbial brick wall, they will remain confident that they are in the clear."

"Yeah, but they're still going to be mighty worried about you and Al," Buck pointed out, not noticing the girl's grimace at the nickname.  "And the closer it gets to that meeting without you guys turning up, the more nervous they're going to get."

Nathan nodded in agreement.  "They're going to be turning this city upside down looking for you two."

"So what do we do now?"  JD asked.

Chris tapped his fingers on the ledgers thoughtfully.  "We let 'em think that we still haven't found anything."  He leaned forward in his seat.  "JD, I want you to look into this Hammings.  Find out everything you can.  Buck, you go back to the office tomorrow and continue with the investigation.  Go talk to Dawson and Lewis, head back down to the airport, keep digging into the initial set-up on Carnelli. Make it look like we're still looking for a lead.  Vin, I want you and Nathan to set up surveillance on Fieldman's, Randolph, and the ranch.  I'll get teams eight and three to help out.  Josiah, you stay here.  Ez and the girl are going to need round-the-clock protection," he held up a hand to silence Ezra's protests, "we'll set up a rotation."  He rubbed his eyes tiredly.  "We've got a week to bring these guys down.  Let's make the most of it." He stood up and glanced at his watch.  "For now, though, let's get some rest.  Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

"As for myself?"  Ezra asked, noting that he had been left out of the loop.

Chris fixed him with a cool stare.  "You stay here, keep your head down, and stay out of trouble."

Ezra's eyes narrowed.  "And my part in this investigation?"

"Well, h**l, Ezra, You done did most of the work!" Buck laughed a little forcibly, trying to break the tension that was rising between the two men.  "I'd say you can sit the rest of this one out!" 

Ezra glanced over at Buck then cocked his head challengingly at his superior.  "That may be, Mr. Wilmington, but I still want to see the case to its conclusion.  Therefore, I would like to know what my assignment will be."  He raised a questioning brow at his superior.

Chris met Ezra's question with a warning glare.  "We'll handle things right now.  Your job is to lay low and keep out of Randolph's radar.  I want you someplace secure, not out on the streets making yourself a target."

Ezra stood to his feet and leaned forward on the table.  "Contrary to what you apparently believe, Mr. Larabee, I acted as judiciously as I could considering the circumstances and see no reason for this punishment," he stated firmly.

"I'm not punishing you!" Chris growled.  "I'm trying to keep you safe. You two are critical witnesses to that murder and to this investigation.  Randolph's going to do everything he can to make sure you don't survive to testify against him.  You need protection, and I don't need you making things harder by going off somewhere half-cocked and doing something stupid to get yourself killed."

"I can take care of myself!" Ezra argued back.  

"This is _not_ negotiable, agent," Chris snapped.  "Either you remain here, under protection, or I'll jerk you off this case completely and slap your a** into a safe house under protective custody so fast your head'll spin.  Do you hear me?"

"You do that, and you tip off Randolph and blow this whole investigation," Ezra shot back.

"This investigation is not worth your life!"  Chris yelled in exasperation. 

"And my life isn't going to be worth a dime if Randolph walks!"

"Which is why I want you here instead of gallivanting off around the city!"

"He's right, Ez," Vin interrupted softly.  He held up a hand to stop Ezra's comment as the man turn toward him with a glare.  "Chris ain't trying to cut you out of the investigation.  What he's trying to do in his a**-backward way is to keep you safe. You can make your contacts from here and keep up with the case.  But it's just too plain risky for you to be out and about right now—for you and Ally."  He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets and gave the man an understanding nod.  "She's in as much danger as you.  And you know Randolph's going to be looking high and low for you two.  Do you want to take the risk of leading him here to her?" He glanced up at the young lady in question, and she nodded in approval.

Ezra looked from Chris to Vin to Ally as he considered Vin's words and sighed in defeat.  "Alright," he agreed at last.  "I will stay here.  But at least allow me to aid in the coordination and research.  I am perfectly capable of working in complete anonymity from my domicile through my computer connections.  Would that be agreeable?" 

"I don't see why not," Vin nodded.  He looked over at Chris and cocked his head.  "What do ya say, Cowboy?"

Chris regarded the two men for moment and finally sighed.  "Fine.  Work from here.  Just stay out of trouble."  He motioned to the others and turned to leave.  "Let's go."

Josiah put a hand on Ezra's shoulder as they stood in the foyer and watched the others troop down the sidewalk to their respective vehicles in the early hours of the morning.  "Brother Chris is only worried about you, son," he commented softly.

Ezra shrugged the hand off.  "Yes," he said dryly, "I'm sure he would hate to lose this investigation because his witness was murdered.  And I am not your son."

"He's not worried about the case, Ezra, or about losing a potential witness.  He's worried about losing a friend," Josiah pointed out.

Ezra snorted.  "Hardly.  I'm sure Mr. Larabee's intentions aren't nearly as noble as you make out."  He moved toward the dining room, cutting off the argument on Josiah's lips.  "I'm afraid you'll have to make do with the couch, Mr. Sanchez, as I gave the guest room to Ally.  I hope you don't mind."  He called over his shoulder.

Josiah clamped his jaw shut and bowed his head a moment, frustrated that he hadn't been able to get through to younger man and hurting for the self-made distance and loneliness of his friend.  "No, I don't mind," he finally answered with a sigh, realizing that he wasn't going to win any arguments tonight.  "I'm supposed to be on guard tonight, so I won't be getting much sleep, anyway."

"Yes, well I believe I shall retire myself for the night, then.  Do let me know if you find yourself in need of anything," Ezra nodded a goodnight and left the older man standing in the living room without a look back.  Josiah sighed again and, after checking out the bay window, turned the lamp beside the couch on low, set his loaded gun on the table underneath the lamp, and perused small collection of novels on the shelf below the DVDs before making his selection and settling himself on the sofa, prepared for his vigil till dawn.

Alex stood in the darkened doorway of the kitchen where she had been cleaning up the mess left behind by the men and listened to the quiet exchange in the living room.   A few minutes later, Ezra entered the kitchen with the intention of cleaning up the mess himself only to find that Alex had finished it.  He apologized, embarrassed that he had left the work to someone he considered to be a guest, but she assured him that she didn't mind at all.  He thanked her again, gave her a light smile, and urged her to rest as well, which she promised she would do in a few minutes.  They exchanged good nights before he headed for the staircase.  She heard his bedroom door close a moment later and frowned, mulling over the events of the last few hours and the intricacies that was team seven.  Instead of climbing the stairs to go to bed herself, she filled the kettle and set it on the stove while reaching for the tea and sugar she had found earlier in the cabinet above.  

She wanted to think for a while.

* * * * * * *

Ezra truly tried to rest, but found that his mind just would not shut off, running over the events of the last few days and hours, analyzing the evidence and forming scenarios and plans for the next week, trying to head off any potentially fatal situations that could possibly occur.  He had trained himself years ago to always think a situation completely through, weigh the pros and cons, and decide on the best course of action based on that analysis, and his mind could now flash through that routine at lightening speed, making decisions and adapting to situations almost subconsciously in a matter of moments; however, he found that now he had a very difficult time turning the whole process off when needed, thus leading to frequent bouts of insomnia.  The situation only worsened while he was on a case or coming down from one because of the tension and stress of creating or maintaining a cover, and there were many mornings that he watched the sun rise.

His teammates knew nothing of this, though.  They just assumed that he was a night owl and stayed up late from nature (which was partially true—he was definitely not a morning person!) or from being out at the Indian Nations casinos or whatever else he did on his time off.  They concluded that he always slept like the dead, as he did the few times he had spent the night at Chris's ranch with them.  They had never stopped to ask why or to realize that the two or three times he had been at the ranch overnight, he was either injured or coming off a bust after weeks of being undercover and was sleeping the sleep of the drugged or the exhausted.  

They never considered that maybe he came in to work at eight-thirty or even nine o'clock when the workday started at seven-thirty because many a night, he hadn't fallen completely asleep until four or sometimes five that morning.  They didn't know that he was actually a very light sleeper and came awake at the slightest noise, that the deep slumber he usually fell into while with them was not a normal occurrence (Actually, it was one that he couldn't really explain himself).  He couldn't afford to sleep deeply while undercover and surrounded by his enemies, and he had been in this business for so long that the insomnia and tendency to sleep lightly had become second nature, his body becoming used to running on only four or five hours of rest.

Tonight, however, he had truly wanted to relax.  He could count on his fingers the number of hours of sleep he had gotten in the past week, and his body was screaming for rest even as his mind raced on.  He had honestly tried.  He had turned the heat down in the room, sealed the curtains to cut out any source of light and even covered the alarm clock to block out the dull red glow, but as soon as his head hit the silk pillow case, he became wide awake.  He tossed and turned for thirty minutes before finally giving up.  He had a small bottle of sleeping pills in his medicine cabinet, but he loathed the things and would have to be completely desperate before he would even consider taking one.  He despised the lack of control and the vulnerability they left in their wake, and he always had a difficult time becoming alert the next day.  No, he would just sit up for a while, allow his mind to completely decompress and unwind slowly.  He knew that eventually, he would be able to relax enough to sleep.

Thus he found himself sitting on the floor in the upstairs hallway, leaning against the wall beside the balcony doors and absently shuffling a well-worn deck of cards as he stared out into the night through the glass.  Though it was the middle of winter, he had propped one of the doors open—not enough to be noticed from outside, but enough to allow a breath of fresh air pass through, as well as the sounds of the evening.  He hoped that the cool, fresh air would serve to help him relax.

The night was a balmy forty-five degrees, warm for Denver in February.  The meteorologist had predicted that a warm front would move in that evening bringing unseasonable temperatures for the next few days, and he had been right.  Ezra relished the more temperate weather—his body was still acclimated to Atlanta, and he had a very difficult time adjusting to Denver's more extreme winter.

He had known there was a reason he hated snow.

A soft creak alerted him to the presence of another person and he looked up to find Alex standing at the end of the stairwell railing, holding two steaming mugs in her hands.  "Mind some company?" she asked quietly.

He quickly made room on the floor and reached for one of the mugs.  "No, not at all.  But shouldn't you be enjoying a light repose in the comforts of your bed?  It is," he glanced at his wristwatch, "three o'clock in the morning."

She shrugged as she sat down beside him.  "I guess you and I are suffering from the same case of insomnia tonight," she answered after a sip from her mug.

"Indeed."  He sniffed at his own cup and recognized the familiar smell of the cinnamon tea he kept in his cabinet as he took a drink and resettled into a more comfortable position.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, both enjoying their drinks and gazing out the doors at the night sky as they contemplated their own deep thoughts.  Alex glanced over at her companion and finally broke the silence.  "Your teammates are definitely a unique bunch," she commented casually.

He smiled in response as he continued to perform a particularly difficult-looking shuffle without looking up at her.  "Yes they are," he agreed.

A few more minutes passed and she moved around a bit to get comfortable.  They heard a quiet whoosh as Josiah gently pushed the sliding glass door open below them on one of his periodic patrols then another and a click a few minutes later as the door was closed and re-locked and Josiah returned to the warmth of the living room, not knowing that they were awake overhead.  She took another sip of her drink before making her next statement.  "They're more than just a team, though."

He paused a moment and looked at her from the corner of his eye, wondering where she was going with this.  "Some would say so," he ventured as he casually flipped the top card over to reveal his trademark ace of spades.

She smiled.  "Watching them tonight, I'd have almost sworn they were a bunch of boys."

"Yes, well they have been accused of that on more than one occasion," he admitted with a wry smile.

She turned her gaze down at the mug in her hands.  "Watching them tease each other, bicker and fuss at each other—it was like watching my own family," she said softly as she looked back out at the night, a reflective look on her features.

Ezra looked up sharply.  "You have siblings?" he asked cautiously, a bit surprised at her comment.

She glanced over at him with a wistful smiled and shook her head.  "No, I was an only child.  Not that mom and dad didn't want any more; it just didn't work out for them."  She focused on the moonlit silhouette of the mountains in the distance and listened to the muted sounds of traffic coming in through the opened door.  "But dad had a brother who he was very close to, as well as my grandparents.  Grandpa's sister and her family were in the area too, and we all got together all the time.  It was the most wonderful thing in the world, those times.  I didn't realize just how precious they were until they were gone.  Of course, what child does?"

Ezra turned his gaze to the mountains as well.  "You are quite correct," he agreed.  "It is one of the endearing characteristics of a good childhood, to not think about the circumstances one finds oneself in, but to just live life as it comes."

Alex nodded as she sipped at her mug.  "Dad and Uncle Ethan were always tormenting each other, challenging each other, teasing each other.  They managed to make everything competitive.  Mom used to swear they were two overgrown boys."  She chuckled at a memory.  "It was so easy to tell that they were best friends.  Not that they didn't get into a fight once in a while, or ever get mad at each other.  Shoot, sometimes they could have shouting matches that you could hear the next state over, and once in a great while, they would even come to blows, though when that happened Grandpa would step in and read them the riot act."  She snorted.  "They were two grown men, and usually Grandpa respected that, but he could still make them toe the line when they needed it."

Ezra felt an old familiar ache rise at the description and he sternly pushed it back down.  It simply wouldn't do to pine over something that was never meant to be.  One should accept the circumstances one found himself in and work with the cards that had been dealt to him, not sit there wishing for a better hand.  Wishes and dreams were for fools.  

_Then you must be the king of fools, _a voice inside mocked him, _because you know you would give anything to have that._  He shook his head at himself.  

Mother would be horrified.

"The thing is," Alex's voice brought him out of his musings, "though they sometimes fought, and sometimes disagreed, and sometimes did things that hurt the other, they wouldn't let any of it come between them or break their friendship.  They were both willing to work things out in order to keep it.  They had a friendship and a brotherhood unlike anything else I've ever seen."

"It truly sounds like a priceless treasure indeed," Ezra agreed quietly as the cards glided through his nimble fingers at a slightly slower pace.  He wondered to where she was leading this conversation.

"It was," Alex answered.  She shifted her leg up and leaned forward on her knees as she gazed out at the night sky. "But you know, I saw the beginning of it in there tonight."  She glanced over at his surprised look and smiled softly.  "Your teammates are like that.  Watching them tonight, it was easy to see that they are forming a family.  And families formed out of choice are strong things.  It's a bond that's worth fighting for."

Silence again fell between them, interrupted only by the sound of the traffic in the distance and the cards in Ezra's hands.  He thought about her observations and came to the same conclusions.  Yes, he could see it.  They were much more than just teammates, co-workers, or even mere friends.  They were a brotherhood, and that was the binding force that made them successful, invincible, legendary.  But did that brotherhood include him?  Did they want it to? Did _he_ want it to?  Because she was right.  That kind of friendship required give and take.  One had to be just as willing to compromise and to give as the next person in order to preserve the alliance.  Mutual trust and respect had to exist for the bonds to remain strong.  Did they truly trust him?  Could _he_ ever truly trust _them_?

"They want to include you in that family, too, you know," she stated softly, seemingly reading his very thoughts and startling him out of his revere. 

He snorted in disbelief and smiled ruefully.  "I hardly think that is the case, my dear," he answered her, focusing his attention once more on the cards in his hand.  "I am simply a member of the team, not the family.  I am merely serving a purpose."

She shook her head in denial.  "There's more to it than that.  Mr. Larabee strikes me as someone who tells you like it is, and if he doesn't like you, then you're out.  He doesn't seem to be very tolerant.  Do you really think that he would keep you around just to serve a purpose?  Especially when there are many more other agents in this country who could perform the same duties with a lot less trouble?  Why else would he allow you to remain?"

He frowned, unable to come up with a definitive answer to her query.  "I don't know.  It's a question that I have asked myself countless times in the past months.  When I left my previous place of employment, it was under a cloud of suspicion and mistrust.  Indeed, I firmly believed I was headed for the unemployment line when Mr. Larabee offered me a position on his team.  I swore to myself that I would do everything in my power to justify his choice."  He laughed at himself derisively as he lay the cards still to take a sip from his mug.  "Of course, I then promptly bungled the first case."

"But you're still here," Alex pointed out.

"Yes," he said softly.  "But one cannot help but wonder why.  Mr. Larabee did indeed give me a second chance, even though he does not trust or even like me."

"What makes you think he doesn't like you?" she asked in confusion.

Ezra shook his head and once again flipped through the cards in a lackadaisical fashion.  "It is simply the nature of the beast, my dear," he declared.  "Mr. Larabee tolerates my presence for reasons I have yet to uncover, but that is all.  The same is true for the other members of the team.  I do not instill confidence in those around me.  Reliability and dependability are not among my more endearing character traits.  I am simply not a person that is to be trusted."

"I trust you," Alex answered softly.

He laughed, but she shook her head.  "It's true," she insisted.  "Look me in the eye and tell me differently.  _I_ _trust_ _you_."

He looked up at her and studied her set features, searching for the slightest hint of falsehood in the steady blue eyes but found none and quickly turned his own eyes back down at the cards in his hands to hide his surprise.  The look of mistrust that he had come to expect from everyone he met simply wasn't there, and it startled him.  Did she really trust him?  "Why?" he asked softly, looking back up at her in bewilderment.

"Because I think that you are worthy of my trust," she stated firmly.

He shook his head and laughed.  "Surely you jest."  When she didn't answer, he went back to shuffling his cards.  "You can't possibly trust me," he declared.  "You barely know me."

"Nevertheless, I do trust you," she asserted.  She twisted the mug in her hands thoughtfully.  "It's true—I haven't known you all that long, and the good Lord knows I have every reason to be leery of people.  Living on the streets does nothing to foster faith in mankind," She smiled dryly.  "But there's something about you that made it safe, something that said I could depend on you.  And the more I get to know you, the more I believe that."

He set the cards down on his lap and raised an eyebrow at her with a smirk.  "If that is the case, then tell me what it is that you are running from."

"What do you mean?" she asked quickly, clearly startled and uneasy at the question.

He snorted. "Come now, my dear it is quite obvious that you are evading something.  If you truly trust me, you can tell me what it is."  He watched her shoulders slump for a moment before she stood and walked to the door, leaning on the facing with her hands in her pockets and staring out into the night, and he silently cursed himself for pushing her.  

Who was he to demand such honesty? L**d knew he had enough secrets of his own—who was he to demand that she reveal herself to him when he himself refused to do so to her?  He had lived his whole life firmly with the belief that everyone was entitled to their own privacy.  Indeed, he deeply cherished his right to his own confidentiality.  So why did he just throw that gauntlet down at her feet?

A few moments of silence passed, and he sighed, ready to tell her to forget it, that she didn't have to reveal anything to him, that he had no right to make such a requirement, but her soft answer stopped him.  "Sanders," she spoke quietly.

He froze.  "Excuse me?"

Alex shifted against the frame.  "My full name is Alexandria Christeene Sanders."  She glanced down at her feet, but kept her back to him.  "I was born on March 31 in Ronceverte, West Virginia, to Allen and Colleene Sanders.  My uncle's name was Ethan, my grandfather's name was Jackson.  With that information and your contacts, you should have no trouble whatsoever finding out anything else regarding me that you would like to know."  She finally turned to face him, a serious expression on her features.  "Just keep in mind that with that knowledge, you now hold my life in your hands," she said lowly, her intense gaze piercing his soul even in the murky shadows of the night.

He averted his eyes to the still cards in his lap in shame.  "I am truly sorry.  I had no right to question you," he said lowly.

"No, you were right," he looked back up in surprise to see her smile at him faintly.  "Words are cheap.  If I really trust you, then I should be willing to show it."  The smile dropped as she stared at him intently.  "But I want you to listen to me.  Trust is a two way street, as is friendship.  Both parties must be willing to give a little.  Your teammates are not asking that you bare your soul to them, just that you be willing to accept their friendship, be willing to give them a small piece of your trust at a time.  It doesn't have to be big, and it doesn't have to be all at once. I know that there will be times when they will hurt you and there will be times when you hurt them—it happens when you deal with people—and there will be times when you seem to take two steps backward for every step you move forward.  But keep trying.  True friends will work to get past that hurt and to preserve their friendship.  All that they ask—all that I ask—is that you give us a chance.  And if we mess up, then give us another and another and another, whatever it takes.  Just don't give up."

Ezra smiled at her weakly.  "I'm afraid that is much easier said then done, my dear.  How can you be so sure that it is worth the risk, that the others truly want me included in their little group?"

Alex snorted as she bent down to pick up her now-empty mug.  "They want you, but they're men.  Men are stupid when it comes to things like that.  Something to do with too big egos and not enough common sense."  She shook her head as she straightened.  "And they're scared to death that if they show just the least little bit of emotion, their manhood will be threatened."

He laughed at the put down as he climbed to his feet and pulled the door shut.  "Your high opinion of the opposite sex truly astounds me," he deadpanned.

She snorted again in response as they turned back to their rooms, but smiled anyway.  "Laugh if you want, but it's true and you know it."  Her smile faded as she changed mental gears.  "And as for the risk being worth it, I can tell you this.  I've experienced loneliness and the pain that comes with isolation.  And I've experienced family, and the joys and the sorrows that it brings, and let me tell you—any pain, any effort you are forced to put out, any comprise that you must give to make a family work is _worth it_.  The joy and the benefits of family far outweigh the cost."  She stopped outside the guestroom and fixed him with another intensive gaze.  "I realize you might not put much faith in the Bible, but there is a passage in it that talks about how two are better than one, because if one falls, the other is there to pick him up, but woe to him that is alone.  It goes on to say that one person alone is easily withstood, but a three fold cord is not quickly broken.  Imagine the strength of a seven fold cord."

Ezra snickered and shook his head as he reached for her mug to return it along with his own to the kitchen.  "My dear, you are beginning to sound like Josiah with his parables."

She smiled and leaned back against the door.  "There are worse people to be compared to."  She moved into the dark room and went to close the door, but paused and raised her eyebrow at him questioningly.  "You asked me if I thought that trust was worth the risk.  You tell me?  Is the security of being your own person and the safety gained from building a wall about yourself to keep others out worth the loneliness and isolation?  Or is the risk of being hurt worth the friendship gained?  People weren't meant to be islands, Mr. Standish.  They were created with the need of friendship, of companionship.  It doesn't make you less of a person or demean you to admit you need a friend.  Opening yourself to friendship doesn't weaken you—it strengthens you.  But you have to be willing to try."  She gave him one last smile before she shut the door quietly, leaving him to stare at her door and ponder her words.


	12. A New Twist

CHAPTER 12 

Josiah un-cocked his gun and slipped it into the waistband of his pants before unlocking the door and holding it open to admit the tracker around eight o'clock the next morning.  "Good morning, Vin.  Are you here to take my post, or are you just delivering breakfast?" he asked pleasantly as he shut the door behind the other man.  

Alex looked up from where she was curled up in one of the recliners reading a book and watched the sharpshooter step into the foyer with two bags and a drink carton holding four cups of coffee in hand.  He nodded a good morning to her before answering Josiah's question.  "Both.  Chris wants you to go with Nathan to cover Randolph.  Kelly and his boys are on the construction company and team three is at the warehouse."

He and Josiah headed down the hall toward the kitchen, trailing an absolutely wonderful aroma behind them.  She sniffed the air and quickly set her book aside to follow the enticing smell.  She stepped into the room just as Vin set the bags and coffee container down on the counter.  

Josiah dug into a bag and pulled a warm, sticky cinnamon bun out from the depths before reaching for one of the coffees.  He sipped at the hot brew and sighed with pleasure at the rich taste.  "Ahh.  Pure heaven," he declared contentedly, taking a huge bite out of the bun.

Vin grinned.  "You know how Ezra is if he don't get his Starbucks of a morning."

Josiah nodded in agreement as he swallowed.  "Yes, well I can understand his insistence on the stop every morning if this is the ambrosia he's after.  Brother Ezra definitely knows his coffee."

Vin pulled his own cup free.  "He still in bed?"

"Of course.  You know Ezra's never out of bed before ten unless he has to."  Josiah finished off his cinnamon bun.

Vin grinned and grabbed a bun from the bag.  "He does enjoy his beauty sleep," he commented before taking a bite.

Alex stood quietly at the sink, watching the interplay and frowned slightly at the comment but decided to keep her thoughts to herself.  It wasn't her business, after all. 

Josiah took another sip from his cup then glanced at his watch.  "Well, I'd better be getting out of here then.  Is Nathan at the office or en route?" 

"He said he'd meet you at the bookshop across from the financial building.  I came in one of the pool cars," Vin answered, tossing Josiah the keys before finishing off his own pastry.

Josiah nodded and slipped into his jacket, adjusting the collar before zipping it up.  He grabbed another confection from the bag.  "See you later," he lifted his free hand in a backward wave as he left the room.  A few seconds later, they heard the front door softly click shut.

Vin pulled the cinnamon bun container from the bag and folded the brown paper up before sticking it in the trash can.  He leaned back against the counter and reached for another bun while sipping from his coffee container with the other hand.  He motioned at the pastries.  "These are for you, too, you know," he smiled softly at the girl.  

Alex blushed a little, tentatively picked up the smallest bun, and nibbled at it.  Vin pointed at the coffee.  "This too."

She shook her head and licked at the icing on her lips before answering him.  "Oh, no thank you.  I'm not a coffee drinker."

Vin nodded and turned to empty the other sack.  "Then I'm glad I stopped by and got this," he said as he handed her a quart of milk and a large bottle of Sunny Delight®.  He laid a bag of freshly made bagels on the counter and put the requested cream cheese and fruit in the refrigerator.  "There's plenty of them buns, so take as many as you want," he commented, not turning from his task but instinctively knowing what was going through the girl's mind.

She looked up from the glass she was filling with milk and he gave her a half smile.  The sympathy and understanding she saw in his eyes unnerved her a little, and she averted her gaze, turning instead to put the milk carton and the juice into the refrigerator.  "Oh, um, okay.  Thanks," she stammered a little, her cheeks coloring slightly again.

Vin again leaned back against the counter and sipped at his coffee, making sure to give the somewhat nervous girl plenty of personal space, watching as she took a drink from her milk.  "So, how did you say you wound up in that hangar?" he asked offhandedly, keeping an eye on her as he reached for another confection.

She met his gaze with a slightly raised eyebrow.  "I don't recall saying," she responded.

"Actually, you didn't say much of anything last night beyond hello," he pointed out, smiling disarmingly, trying to show that he wasn't interrogating her.

Her lips quirked into a half-smirk.  "Ezra was doing such an excellent job last night, I didn't feel that it was necessary for me to add anything."

He chuckled slightly.  "When it comes to words, Ol' Ez _always _does an excellent job."  He finished off his coffee and surreptitiously pushed the cinnamon bun container toward her while licking at the icing on his fingers.  Silence temporarily filled the room before he broke it.  "You know, I've been where you are," he casually stated, pulling a paper towel from the dispenser and wiping his hands.

"And where do you think that is?" she asked, focusing on him with a poignant look.

He returned her gaze with his own knowing look as he slid his hands into the pockets of his beat-up leather jacket.  "It's kinda obvious you haven't had it real easy for a while now," he shrugged slightly, looking down at his boots.  "Though maybe it's just easier for an ex-street kid to spot another."  He smiled at her and she slowly returned it, shaking her head.

"Maybe it is at that," she chuckled.  "Well, you seemed to've done well, despite your humble roots," she commented as she took note of his appearance, nodding in admiration.

"I've done alright," he agreed.  "You don't look like you've done too bad by yourself, either."  He had noticed the clear eyes and the pride that shown in them, something that was quite rare for a child of the streets.  It was clear to him that she hadn't given up on herself yet.

Alex tilted her head a little in a dismissive gesture.  "I try.  Don't plan on staying there forever."

He nodded in approval.  "It's a good thing to have plans," he said quietly.  "Helps in the hard times, when ya got good memories and goals to fall back on."

She smiled softly as she reached for another bun.  "Yes, it is, isn't it?"

They fell into a companionable silence, she finishing off her milk then rinsing the glass in the sink; he drinking another cup of coffee and eating another cinnamon bun.  He watched her features soften as she leaned back against the sink with crossed arms when she finished and stared out the curtained window at the mountain scenery beyond.  The wariness and tension that was barely detectible in her eyes seemed to melt as she gazed at the peaceful view.  "Iffin you ever need it, there's a shelter bein' run in the old Murphy Theater in Purgatorio," he finally spoke up.  "The people runnin' it are good folk, and they'll take ya in, no questions asked.  They keep the place clean and don't let no troublemakers in there.  You'd be safe there.  And it's warmer than an airplane hangar," he smirked.

She turned her gaze from the scenery to look at him and laughed.  "Yes, but that airplane hangar got plenty warm after a while—warmer than I was comfortable with, actually."

Vin shook his head with his own chuckle as he tossed his empty coffee cup and used paper towel in the trashcan.  "Well, at least at this place, you don't have to be out-running bullets or escaping murders."

"Or saving ATF agents or jumping out windows to keep from being blown to kingdom come, either, I hope," she added dryly.

"That either," Vin grinned.  He turned to leave the room, but stopped and looked back at her, his face turning serious.  "Not speaking for the others, but whatever trouble you're in, I'll help ya, if ya want me to," he stated firmly.

She turned back to him, a little surprise lighting her blue eyes.  "Trouble? What makes you think I'm in trouble?" she smirked with crossed her arms.

He snorted.  "Most people don't live on the streets 'cause they want to.  They're either at the end of their rope and caught in a bad situation, or beyond caring.  And since you seem to have a bit of fire still in ya, I'd say you're there 'cause you didn't have any other choice."

She shrugged self-depreciatingly.  "It seemed to be the only choice at the time, anyway," she answered softly, a slight melancholy seeming to enshroud her for a moment as she turned her gaze back out the window.   "Though sometimes I wonder."

He followed her line of sight to the snow-capped peaks rising in the distance, feeling the pull they seemed to have over him strengthen for a moment.  Maybe when this case was over, he could take a long weekend and spend some time up in the woods above Larabee's ranch. Maybe do a little hunting or fishing, or maybe track down that fourteen-point elk he had seen up there back in November. Peso could use the exercise, at any rate.  He nodded to himself, liking the idea.  

Yep, he could use the time away.

He pulled his gaze from the captivating scene and from his musings with some difficulty and again focused on the girl.  "I mean it," he said softly.  "You need the help, ya just ask for Vin Tanner."

She looked down at her hands then back up at him, searching his eyes for any kind of deceit but finding nothing but kindness and understanding in the blue depths.  "Why?" she finally asked.  "You have no idea who I am or what kind of person I am.  You have no idea what I could have possibly gotten myself into."

"Because, my dear, like myself, Mr. Tanner has an uncommon perception of others and can see that you are more than what your circumstances dictate.  And besides, there comes a time when one must rely on someone outside of himself to overcome their situation—at least, that is what a certain source has so informed me."

Vin and Alex both turned at the comment to find Ezra leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed and a smile gracing his face.  He was freshly shaven and impeccably groomed, dressed in a pair of gray kakis, a black shirt, and a pair of loafers. His eyes were clear and twinkling in amusement, though evidence of several sleepless nights in a row was beginning to show in his features.  

Alex grinned and shook her head at hearing her own words tossed back at her, wondering just how long he had been standing there and why she hadn't noticed him.  She must have been more tired than she thought!  

Ezra stood up and entered the room, patting her on the shoulder as he made a bee-line for the coffee on the counter.  "Is that Mocha Valencia I smell?" he asked, reaching for the last cup.  He practically purred with pleasure as he took a sip of the steaming brew.

Vin grinned at his teammate.  "Yep.  And those sticky buns are from the bakery over on Beckham.  Thought Josiah would need something for breakfast. Didn't figure on you being up so early, though."

Ezra grimaced as he pulled a paper towel off the dispenser and reached for a cinnamon bun.  "Yes, well, with all that racket down here, how can one possible find any rest?  Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to see what Josiah did with my morning paper."  He quickly left the room, coffee and pastry in hand.

Vin exchanged disbelieving looks with Alex before grabbing the last pastry and following the smaller man out the door. Alex laughed quietly.  Though she couldn't hear Ezra's replies, she could hear Vin's comments quite clearly from down the hall. "Racket?  What racket? A tomb couldn't have been any quieter!......Hey, where's the funnies page?…….Come on, Ez, quit hogging the whole paper.  You can't read it all at one time!.......I'll be done with it long before you get there…….Ain't your momma ever taught you to share? Wait—don't answer that…….Just let me have the d**n paper…….Ezra!"

* * * * * * *

The evening found Ezra sitting in one of his dining room chairs, absent-mindedly flipping through the materials they had gathered for the case while half-listening to the noise of the boxing match on the television in the next room, Buck's shouts at the contenders and the referees, JD's music (which he could _still_ hear, even though the boy was clear across the room sitting at his computer with headphones on), and Nathan and Josiah's argument from his kitchen over dinner. Chris sat across from him, silently going through the same papers, but a particularly obscene exclamation from Buck drew a snort and a mild head shake from the leader, proving that he was paying some attention to the atmosphere around him. Vin had disappeared outside some time ago, claiming to be keeping watch, but more than likely trying to escape the close confines of the townhouse.  He hadn't seen Alex since the rest of the guys had arrived a few hours ago.

Another annoyed shout of "Josiah, get away from that pot!" had Ezra looking up in disbelief to see Josiah once again trying to spice up the spaghetti and meatballs Nathan was attempting to make from one of Rain's recipes.  Nathan rapped the older man on the knuckles with a spoon and jerked the hot sauce bottle away from the preacher while muttering under his breath, and Ezra shook his head in amazement.

With eating habits like that, how could the man possibly have a stomach left?

He lay the pencil he had in his hand down on the tablet in front of him and sat back and rubbed his eyes tiredly.  JD and Buck had arrived at one that afternoon to relieve Vin with a couple bags of groceries in hand as they pushed their way into the townhouse.  JD had immediately taken over the computer and hadn't moved from the spot since.  Ezra had periodically interrupted him with offers of drink and food, if nothing more than to get the young man to rest his eyes. 

It amazed him that the boy wasn't half blind by now!

Buck had hovered in the background, moving from room to room every once in a while before settling back in the living room.  He had turned the TV on low at first, while he was on watch, but when Chris and the others had arrived that evening and Vin took over, the television had gotten a little louder, and before Ezra knew it, Buck was on the phone to the cable company, ordering several pay-per-view items with promises to reimburse him next payday.

Ezra didn't even want to _think_ about what the ladies man intended on watching _after_ the boxing match.

Nathan had come with the supplies to make dinner, claiming that two weeks straight of takeout was just too much, and he had moved right in to the kitchen.  Every once in a while he would ask Ezra where something was (which Ezra usually didn't have) and then would shake his head, not understanding how the man survived this long on his own and grumbling under his breath about his teammates' blood pressures, cholesterol levels, and over all physical health, wondering just why none of them had dropped dead of a heart attack yet, considering that the main part of their diet consisted of pizza, hamburgers, and Chinese food—or in Ezra's case—Thai food and fine French cuisine.  

Despite Josiah's not-so-helpful suggestions, Nathan had almost succeeded in completing his meal, and an absolutely delicious smell was now wafting through the dining room, making Ezra's stomach growl.  He reached for his glass as he scanned yet another page then frowned when he realized the glass was empty.  He stood up from his chair and discretely stretched his back before making his way into the kitchen.  Chris didn't even look up, barely registering his exit.

Ezra entered the kitchen just in time to see Josiah once again taste the sauce sitting off to the side of the stove.  "It needs just a little more garlic powder, brother," he commented, reaching for the spice bottle sitting on the counter.

"It's fine, Josiah.  Leave it alone!"  Nathan growled in exasperation, knocking the older man's hand away from the pot.  "Look, the bread will be done in a few minutes.  Why don't you go pull JD off the computer and Buck from the television set and get them moving in here while I finish up. Okay?"  He practically pushed his friend out the doorway.

Ezra reached into the refrigerator and re-filled his glass with the last of the pitcher's contents.  It had been quite a while since he had tasted honest-to-goodness homemade southern iced tea, so when Alex tentatively asked if she could make some, he had readily agreed and found that the girl had a knack for making the brew.  He himself had drunk a good third of the first pitcher himself, and he had noticed that Vin had consumed quite a few number of glasses, as well as JD and Buck, forcing the girl to make two more pitchers before the others had even arrived.  He shook his head at the now empty cut-glass container.

If Alex planned to have the drink with her dinner, she was again going to have to brew up another pot.

"Hey, Ezra, can you go out and let Vin know that dinner's ready?  He's somewhere out back," Nathan asked as he grabbed a towel and opened the oven door, checking his bread.  

Ezra lifted a hand in acknowledgement and slipped out the sliding glass door into the cool night air.  As the door slid shut, he was amazed to find that very little of the noise from inside could be heard from outside, and with all the curtains and drapes pulled, only a faint glow could be seen.  He stopped for a moment, trying to decide which direction the sharpshooter would have gone, when a voice spoke to him from out of the darkness.  "Over here, Ez."

He turned to see an indistinct dark shape materialize out of the shadow of the next building a few yards further down the hill and recognized the voice of his quarry.  He crossed the grassy expanse between the two buildings and stepped up beside the lanky Texan, surprised to see Alex leaning against the building on the other side of the man.  "Did you find yourself in need of some fresh air as well?" he asked the girl in amusement. 

"Not really—I just wanted to be able to hear myself think," she answered mildly.  "Though it was getting rather stuffy in there." 

Ezra smiled in agreement before turning to his teammate and taking a sip from the glass in his hand.  "Any sign of our pursuers?"  He asked casually.

"No.  It's been real quiet out here tonight," Vin reassured him.  "Either they haven't been able to find out where you live, or they figure that even you ain't dumb enough to come back home," he smirked.

"Ha, ha, Mr. Tanner, you are quite the comedian.  Personally, I consider it a stroke of pure genius on my part.  The fact that it is so obvious is the very reason I chose to return to my domicile—who indeed would believe that I would risk hiding in plain sight?"

"Only someone who's thinkin' was as skewed as yours, Ezra," Vin chuckled, ignoring the smaller man's glare much the same way he ignored Chris's.  He noticed his friend shiver in the cool evening air and raised an eyebrow.  "So, they run you out, or did you just decide to take a moonlight stroll?  'Cause if ya decided to take a walk, I'd suggest you go back and get your coat.  It's winter out, if ya hadn't noticed."

Alex giggled quietly at the statement and Ezra again tried to intimidate the man with a steely glare, but it had the same affect as the first one—nothing.  "Actually, Mr. Tanner, I was sent out to inform you that dinner is ready; however, if you persist in harassing me, I may be inclined to ban you from the residence."  He began retracing his steps back to his patio.

Vin and Alex quickly fell in step beside him.  "Aw, now Ez, you wouldn't do that, would you?  I'm a growing boy—I need my nourishment.  Nettie says so herself."

Ezra couldn't help but snort at that comment.  "Sir, you are in as much danger of starving to death as I am of dying of heat stroke tonight—especially if Mrs. Wells has any say.  I dare say that between you, JD, and Josiah, the remainder of us will be fortunate to obtain half a plate of food before you three devour the rest of the meal."

"Well then come on, before they eat it all!"  Vin picked up his pace, pulling ahead of the other two.  "Hey, is there any more of that tea left?" he asked, reaching the door and pushing it open for them.

"I'm afraid this is the last of that pitcher," Ezra lifted his glass apologetically as he stepped into the warmth of the hallway.

Vin looked disappointed as he took his coat off and hung it on the knob of the door hiding the stairway to the basement garage.  Alex took her own jacket off and smiled at him.  "Don't worry—I'll make some more just as soon as I hang this up," she reassured him.  "Though someone is going to have to invest in a couple of gallon jugs or something if you guys keep going through it that fast.  This is the fourth pot tonight!"

"Thanks, Ally."  Vin perked up immediately and returned her smile before heading into the kitchen. "Hey, Wilmington!  Hands off! Those is my meatballs!" his voice floated back out into the hall.  

Ezra rolled his eyes to the ceiling and sighed long-sufferingly as Alex giggled behind her hand.  "I do believe I will not survive this rabble's onslaught," he muttered to himself resignedly.

Alex patted him consolingly on the shoulder.  "Now, it's not that bad.  Just think—there could be twelve of them instead of six."  She couldn't help but laugh at the stricken look that passed across the southerner's face.

"Young lady, don't even contemplate that thought!" he ordered sharply.

She just chuckled as she headed down the hall to hang up her jacket.

* * * * * * *

An hour later, a large empty pot that had once been filled to the brim sat in the middle of the dining room table, surrounded by seven satiated but happy men.  Alex quietly began gathering up the dirty utensils and used paper plates that Nathan had thoughtfully provided, but was stopped by Josiah.  "We'll get that, young lady," he smiled at her as he took the pot from her hands.  "Buck will be happy to do the dishes, won't ya, Brother?"

Buck looked up in alarm from his attempt at snatching JD's last piece of garlic bread.  "Now you just wait one daggone minute there, Preacher," he protested.  "You and Nathan were the ones who dirtied up all those pans."

Nathan stood up and stretched with a groan before reaching for his glass.  "Well, Buck, as my grandmother used to say—I dirtied 'em—you can wash 'em."  He downed the rest of the contents and set the glass down on the table right in front of the man with a wide grin.

"And please get started on them now.  Tomato sauce does tend to stain if left too long on a surface, and I would much prefer my pots to remain in pristine condition, if you don't mind," Ezra spoke up with a smirk.  "You'll find the rubber gloves in the top drawer to the right of the sink, with the dishcloths."

"Hey now, guys.  I—" Buck started to complain, but was interrupted by Vin.

"I'd think you'd be right happy to volunteer to do dishes, Buck," Vin commented slyly as he stood and added his own dishes to the growing pile in front of the protesting man, his eyes glinting in mischief.  "I hear it does a good job of softening up the hands, and you know how much the ladies like soft hands."

Buck shot a glare at the tracker.  "You just stay out of this, Junior," he barked.

"Buck, shut up and do the dishes," Chris ordered mildly from his place at the head of the table, a faint smirk hovering on his lips as he sat back in his seat.

"But, Chris—"

JD's cell phone chose that moment to ring, and the boy cupped a hand over his ear to drown out the argument behind him.  "Hey, Ash!  Ya found something?" he spoke into the receiver.

The others quieted down and watched the boy grin widely as he sat back down in front of the computer and, balancing the small phone on his shoulder, began typing furiously.  A few moments later, the printer hummed to life. "Thanks, man, I owe ya one….Yeah, you have a good night, too…well, a good morning then….okay.  Thanks again!"  JD said in goodbye before thumbing the phone off and tossing it back on the desk.  He typed a few more commands on the keyboard then rolled the chair over to the printer and pulled the first stack off the machine.  "That was a friend of mine, Ashley Woods, from Scotland Yard," he explained as he handed the papers to Chris.

"Since when do you have girlfriends in London?" Buck asked in disbelief.

JD rolled his eyes.  "Ashley's a _he_, Buck, not a _she_."

The ladies' man smirked as he sat back with crossed arms.  "I didn't know you swung that way, boy."

"Get your head out of your pants, Buck," JD complained as he turned back to the computer.  "I met him a while back at an international communications conference on satellite imaging," he typed a few more commands then turned his attention back to the topic at hand and looked up at his teammates.  "Since this Hammings guy is from Europe, I called Ash up for some help.  It took some digging, but he finally got us a lead.  That's what he found so far," he nodded to the pile of papers Chris was reading.

Chris scanned the top few pages then passed them down the table to the next man in line while he read the next set.  Nathan let out a low whistle as he skimmed the pages he held.  "Says here that this guy is involved in everything from gun smuggling to drugs to black market goods to stolen art and priceless artifacts." He passed a sheet to Josiah before accepting the next one in line.

"Hmm.  Seems he's been linked to several high profile cases all over Europe, Asia, and Africa over the last twenty years.  I bet our fellow law enforcers across the Atlantic would just love to get their hands on this guy," Josiah commented.

"He is quite the businessman, isn't he?" Ezra said when he received the papers, a hint of admiration in his voice.  "He has managed to build quite the criminal empire during his career, and no one has been able to touch him."

"So he's tryin' to expand his business here in the states," Vin stated as he scanned the papers over Ezra's shoulder.  "And he's using Randolph to do it."

"Sure looks that way," Nathan agreed.

"So who is he really?"  Buck asked thoughtfully, the dishes forgotten as he focused on the case.  

JD turned back to the computer, his hands flying across the keys as he sorted through the huge amount of information his friend had forwarded to him.  "Well, let's see.  Hammings is a front for another organization, which is a front for another, and another.  Sheesh, he's really got himself spread out, don't he?"

"It's how he's managed to stay in the business so long, kid," Chris answered absently as he read another page more thoroughly.  

After a few minutes of searching, JD finally sat back with an Ah-ha!  "Seems our Mr. Hammings was first noticed about twenty years ago at a heist at one of those South Africa Diamond mines.  A few months later, he appeared again at another high scale robbery in Germany.  And he's just been getting bigger ever since."  He handed Chris the grainy photo that he printed out as he continued his explanation.  "He's got several aliases, from Hammings to Bartholomew, to Menandez, to Castille, to all kinds of others," he explained as the picture made the circuit.

"Yes, but who is he?"  Buck asked again impatiently as he studied the photo before handing it to Vin.  Though it appeared to be several years old and taken from a distance, he could clearly make out the features of a rather handsome man, apparently in his mid to late forties, with dark hair and piercing dark eyes. Taking a guess, he would say the man was from the Mediterranean area.

JD sorted through several web pages before finding the one he wanted.  "From what the European authorities could piece together, he's originally from Corsica or Southern France, though they aren't for sure just which.  Let's see—" he ran a finger down the screen.  "Here it is.  The earliest name they could come up for him is—"

"Sean Bartinol," a grim voice interrupted him.  They all turned to see Alex, who had heretofore been staying quietly out of the way, fiercely grip the back of an empty chair as she stared in horror at the photograph that Ezra had laid to the side.  Her face drained of all color and her blue eyes widened in shock as she tentatively picked the picture up with trembling fingers to confirm what she already knew for sure.  "His name is Sean Bartinol."  She clutched the photograph tightly and looked up at them, her eyes haunted with shock, grief, and disbelief.

JD looked up at her from the computer screen in surprise.  "Yeah, Bartinol.  That's right.  But how did you know?"

"Ally?"  Ezra asked softly as he stood and took the photograph out of her hands, laying it down on the table before reaching out to lightly rest his hand on her shoulder.  "Ally, are you alright?"

Alex shrugged his touch off abruptly and walked to the window, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as though she were warding off a chill.  She closed her eyes tightly for a moment then pushed the curtain back slightly to gaze out into the night, trying to get a grip on the emotional onslaught that the photograph had stirred up—emotions that she thought she had long ago gained control over.  She licked her suddenly dry lips.

"Alex?"  Chris asked a bit forcibly to get her attention as he too stood to his feet.  "How did you know that this man is Sean Bartinol?"

She turned back to him suddenly, her blue eyes cool and piercing as she finally pushed her shock back down and focused on the men in the room.  Chris was taken back by the fierce intensity and the heart-wrenching grief that shown in those azure depths—grief that was almost comparable to that which haunted his own dreams.  She stood up straighter and lifted her chin in a challenge.  "I know the man, Mr. Larabee, because his face haunts my worst nightmares."  Her eyes narrowed as an old anger sparked to life in them.  "I'll never forget the face of the man who murdered my parents in front of me." 


	13. Ally's Story

I actually finished this chapter last week, but when I went to post it, I found that the website was down for a few days.  Which was alright, because then I decided that I should really wait to post this chapter until after I had 14 finished and ready to post, since this chapter is mainly about my OFC.  I figured ya'll might forgive me for this one tiny, little chapter that mainly shows my character if I immediately gave you one that had the guys in it.  So, that means you all get two for the price of one this week!

Also, as I promised, things will start to pick up pretty soon—around chapter 15 and 16.  So stay with me.  We're almost there!

WARNING:  This chapter goes into great depth concerning Ally's background and explains how she ended up on the streets.  So, if you don't want to read about the OFC and just want the parts that have the guys in them, then I recommend that you skim through the first several paragraphs and pick the story back up after the first italicized part.

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**_CHAPTER 13_****__**

A cool breeze swept over the balcony causing the girl to shiver a little.  She knew she shouldn't be sitting out on the balcony in the middle of the night like this, knew that it was dangerous.  Just because Randolph or Vitalis had not made an appearance at the townhouse yet did not mean that they weren't going to, but she had begun to feel very claustrophobic and, needing the fresh air and open space, had taken the risk and settled out on the balcony.  Having spent the amount of time she had on the streets, she barely registered the crisp, cold air as she sat with her back pressed up against the warm brick of the wall, listening to the sounds around her and trying to sort out the emotions that had overwhelmed her that evening.  She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, frowning at the slight tremble in her hand.  She heard a dog bark in the distance and the answer by another further away.  She glanced down at her worn old pocket watch in her hand and grimaced at the time.  Two a.m. and she still hadn't managed to even begin to relax!  

The bare branches of the trees that lined the path leading from the playground into the woods around the lake clattered and clacked as another breeze gently crossed the hillside, setting the swings in motion and lightly touching her cheek with a touch of frost, causing another shiver to course through her—or maybe it was the Pandora's Box of memories that had been unleashed tonight that chilled her to the bone.  

She turned her gaze toward the rippling obsidian waters of the lake and the dark silhouette with the silver-blanketed peeks in the distance and focused on the sounds of the city, trying to empty her mind and bring peace to her heart, but the horrid picture refused to be banished from her mind's eye:

           _It had been the summer of her thirteenth year, and she had been looking forward to the carefree days of exploring the wilds of the Appalachian hills with her grandfather, horseback riding the old trails behind the homestead, and simply lazing the days away, helping her mother putter in her vegetable and flower gardens or settling in the hay loft with a good book.  Her uncle and his family was in France for the summer, where he had been sent for business reasons by the clothing franchise that he worked for, and her grandfather was in Florida, visiting one of his sisters, so for the next week, it was just her and her mother. _

_Though she was enjoying the time alone with mother, Alex also found herself missing her father.  She hadn't seen him since her birthday at the end of March, and it was now the middle of June. Even then, he had only flown in that morning and left that night.  She was worried about him.  During the brief time she had spent with him at the party, he had been distant, and she had noticed the exhaustion and tension in his eyes, the pale features, and the loss of weight.  When he had left, he had hugged her fiercely and buried his face in her hair, whispering that no matter what happened, she should remember that he loved her.  She had heard those words many times in her short life—every time he left for a case, in fact—but the intensity in his eyes during this time scared her.  Something was wrong.  She could feel it.  Whatever the matter was, she hoped things ended quickly, before the worst thing possible happened and he came home dead._

_She and her mother had settled in that evening, prepared to make homemade pizzas and watch a few movies when they heard a car pull up in the drive.  She had run to the window and glanced out the curtain before rushing to the door and pulling it open.  Her father stood in the doorway, looking disheveled and weary, as though he had been in a great hurry.  He kissed her gently on the cheek then sent her to pack a bag.  She had been confused, but one look from her mother had her scurrying quickly up the stairs.  She could hear a murmur of voices from downstairs as evidently her father was explaining to her mother what was wrong then the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs as her mother quickly rushed to her room to pack a bag herself while her father shut the house up, hastily preparing it for their absence.  Within an hour, they were in the car, rushing to the nearest airport then in a small plane, headed for who knew where. _

_Hours later, they set down in what she recognized to be __Seattle__ by the space needle in the distance, and they were hustled quickly to a hotel and settled in.  She had been sent to bed, but had not been able to sleep.  She quietly crept to the door and cracked it open to allow her a view into the living room area and had unashamedly eavesdropped on her parent's conversation, intent on finding out what was going on.  She wanted to be prepared for whatever happened, and she couldn't do that if she didn't know what to expect.  _

_Around __3 a.m.__ local time, two men, her father's partner and his supervisor, arrived and the small group settled in the suit to discuss their plans for the next day.  From what she could understand, it seemed that her father was on the verge of bringing down a most capable criminal, a man who had been untouchable for many years as he built a vast illicit network across the globe.  Allen Sanders had been slowly and methodically building his case against the man and was now finally in a position to end the investigation and topple the corrupt giant.  But the criminal mastermind knew that things were coming to an end, and in a last ditch effort to preserve his freedom, had set out to destroy his nemesis once and for all.  He and Sanders had spent the last two months playing a deadly game of cat and mouse, parrying each other and dancing closer and closer to a final conflict.  In fact, this had been the first meeting Sanders had with his partner and boss in all that time, as he had learned of the spies his enemy had scattered all throughout the agency and had gone underground to protect himself.  He had personally arranged for the protection of his family, using only guards that he knew and trusted explicitly before he had finally returned to the states and contacted his employer._

_As expected, his supervisor and friend had not been happy at the absence, but had agreed that it had been necessary.  Allen explained that once he was sure that his family was safe, he would meet his boss and the men gathered for the operation and set their plans in motion.  Until then, no one was to see the evidence that he had spent the last few years of his life putting together—not even his partner and boss.  Both men had reluctantly agreed that this absolute secrecy was indeed needed and had left to prepare for the mission and to await Sanders' instructions._

_The sun crossed the horizon the next morning to find the Sanders family halfway across __Puget Sound__ headed for __Victoria__, __British Columbia__, where they rented a car and headed up __Provincial Highway__ Fourteen.  Allen explained on the way that he had three friends, not related to the agency in any way, waiting on them in a secluded harbor on up the coast line with a small yacht prepared to take them out into the Pacific.  They would set sail for the __Aleutian Islands__ in __Alaska__, where mother and daughter would anchor and wait for word from him._

_The harbor was empty save for the yacht when they drove up to the dock and climbed out of the car; the only sounds to greet them were those of the forest and the ocean. Storms further out to sea had made the swells higher and the water choppy, causing the boat to sway gently in the current and occasionally scrape along the cement dock.  Alex had begun to feel uneasy and looked up to see her father slip his gun from his shoulder hostler and cautiously advance toward the boat, motioning for the women to stay with the vehicle. As he reached the vessel, a figure stepped out of the cabin and Alex got her first look at the man who would come to haunt her nightmares.  Allen stumbled backwards a step, then turned to see a gunman exit the shed at the shoreline, while two more rose from their places of concealment at the tree line.  _

_They were herded into the boathouse by the gunmen.  Alex immediately felt sick when she saw the bodies of her father's friends laying on the floor just inside the door, and her father pulled her tighter to him, putting himself between her and the sight until they were into the dining room. The figure on the boat followed them into the house and introduced himself as Sean Bartinol.  Allen quietly asked how the man had known they were going to be there, but the criminal had just smiled and refused to divulge that bit of information.  He found the disks that her father had and after checking them on his laptop computer, he destroyed them before demanding to know what Sanders had done with the back-ups.  Allen refused to tell him.  _

_Bartinol finally got angry and grabbed Colleene, intent on forcing the information from the man, when a shot sounded from the doorway and one of the gunmen fell to the floor.  They all whirled around to see one of her father's friends, who had been supposedly dead, leaning shakily in the doorway, bleeding heavily from gunshot wounds to his torso.  One of the remaining gunmen instantly fired back, killing the man with a shot between the eyes, but the distraction had been enough.  Colleene pushed Bartinol back against the wall and raked her nails down his face while her husband attacked the gunman nearest him, disarming him and pushing him into the other.  Bartinol let go of the woman to protect his face, and she scrambled away.  She grabbed her daughter's arm and pushed her toward the back bedroom, screaming for her to run—and Alex did.  Her heart was in her throat and the blood was pounding in her ears as she half-stumbled down the hallway.  Her father managed to get one of the guns and fired at their pursuers as he followed them down the narrow passage. _

_ Then fate changed the deck in mid-play.  Just as she reached the bedroom doorway, she heard a shot and a scream behind her and whirled around to watch her mother fall to the ground, a spray of blood erupting from her back.  Alex looked up and time seemed to enter slow motion as heard her father's enraged yell and the sound of two gunshots.  Alex turned to see her father slammed back against the wall by the force of a bullet to the arm and Bartinol duck back into the other room as a bullet tore a chunk from the doorway above his head.  At that instant, time suddenly caught back up with itself, and Alex felt the sounds and shouts around her explode back upon her senses as her father scrambled up from the floor and grabbed his wife before pushing them into the room and slamming the door.  _

_Alex knelt down beside her mother and grabbed the woman's hand, tears streaming down her cheeks.  Her mother looked up and smiled weakly for a moment before a grimace stole across her pale and sweaty features as a blaze of pain coursed through her body.  She groaned and squeezed her daughter's hand.  Alex tentatively reached out to touch the woman's face, but was suddenly pushed up and away by her father.  He ordered her through the window, practically throwing her to the ground himself when she hesitated.  As she hit the hard earth with a painful thud, she heard him shout for her to head to the woods and circle around to the yacht, that there was a radio there with which they could call for help.  She looked back up and asked about him, and he flashed a small, reassuring smile at her, telling her that if it was possible, that he would meet her there.  He then ordered her to go._

_She blindly pushed her way into the dense forest, her heart beating wildly and terror-induced adrenaline coursing through her veins.  She almost stumbled to a stop as she heard the sound of wood splintering and gunshots, but another shout from her father had her continuing on her course.  She barely registered where she was as she ran, the only thought that could slip past the pounding in her ears was that she had to get away, had to circle around to the yacht.  Finally, she tripped over a bank and fell to the ground three feet below her, rolling to a stop under a fallen tree.  She curled up in the branches and tried to hold her breath, listening desperately for the sounds of pursuit.  After what seemed like an eternity, she determined that no one was following her and slowly scrambled from the foliage.  As her breathing returned to normal, she was able to think more clearly and rationalize a plan of action.  Remembering all her grandfather's lessons about the forest, she stealthily made her way back around to the harbor._

_Ten minutes later, she found herself standing on a rocky ledge jutting out into the water about twenty yards from the yacht and no more than forty from the house.  It was then that she noticed that silence once again ruled the small cove.  She looked toward the house but could see nothing and turned to try to find a way back down to the water, but stopped as she noticed a form move from the shadows of the wheel room of the boat.  Relief flooded through her as she recognized her father.  His arms and hands were bloody, and blood was streaked across his pale features, but he was standing tall and firm, scanning the water's edge, looking for her.  She also noticed a small lump lying on the bench near him and realized that it was her mother.  She waved her arms in the air, shouting to get his attention, and almost slumped to the ground in relief when he saw her.  She saw him visibly relax and smile, saw him return her wave and motion her down to the boat—then she saw the yacht suddenly explode, the force of it knocking her to the ground._

_She scrambled to her feet, screaming in disbelief and grief, unable to tear her eyes from the grisly scene. Panic tore threw her and she turned to rush to the water's edge but stopped upon seeing another witness to the devastation.  Her wide blue eyes met the hard dark ones of Sean Bartinol and time seemed to freeze.  His right arm was bloody and held tightly against him and a ragged gash cut around his forehead where a bullet from her father's gun had passed. He held a gun in his left hand and a tiny device in the other—a device that she realized had triggered the explosion.  Their eyes held for what seemed like eternity before a pop and a spray of rock at her feet startled her back into reality.  She stumbled backward, realizing that Bartinol had lifted the gun and was now firing at her.  Instinct took over, and she turned back into the woods as another bullet landed with a thunk in the tree trunk beside her.  She pushed her way back into the safety of the forest, tears streaming down her cheeks, fear and grief tearing at her like a living thing as the fire on the water intensely raged, the heat of it scorching her back and the roar of the flames filling her ears…_

A hand touched her shoulder, pulling her from her memories, and she jerked away with a yelp, kicking out at the blurry image in front of her and scrambling back into the corner created by the railing and the wall.

"Ally!  Calm down!  It's alright!"  Ezra twisted away from her kick, narrowly avoiding serious damage to his manhood and grimaced at the pain that was now radiating upwards from the new bruise on his hip left by her shoe as he fell backwards on the floor.

The girl had disappeared soon after her shocking proclamation, and Ezra had let her be, sensing that she needed a little time.  The others had left not long afterwards, and he and Nathan, who was on guard duty, had piddled around downstairs for a bit, cleaning up before parting ways for the night.  As he had reached the top of the stairs, Ezra had noticed the guest room door was open and decided to look in on the girl, to see if she was all right.  A flash of dread seared through him when he found the room empty, and for an instant he thought she had taken off, but that fear was pushed aside when he noticed her bag sitting in the chair.  He turned back into the hallway, wondering where she had gone, when the clouds parted outside, allowing a shaft of moonlight to appear on the floor through the French doors.  Acting on a hunch, he headed for the balcony, where he found the object of his search huddled in the quilt from her bed, staring aimlessly out into the night.  He called her name softly, but getting no response, he bent down and touched her gently.

He had not been prepared for the response he received.

Alex stopped moving as she recognized who was before her and colored slightly in embarrassment.  "Ezra?  I'm so sorry!" she sat up on her knees, letting the quilt fall to the floor, and reached out to touch the man who was sprawled out and leaning on his elbows beside her.  "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Nothing but a bruise or two," Ezra commented as he sat up and winced, gingerly rubbing the new bruise on his leg.

Alex sat back on her heels and cocked her head to the side, studying him.  "You sure?"

"Indubitably.  Though I must say, you possess amazing reflexes, my dear," Ezra smiled at her to show that he held no hard feelings.

She blushed again and sat back against the wall, turning her gaze down as she picked at the quilt absently.  "Sorry.  I guess I was a little zoned out there for a minute." she apologized.

Ezra scooted around so that he was leaning against the wall beside her and looked out across the lake to the gently swaying trees beyond.  "I could see that," he agreed.  They sat in silence for a moment.  He pulled his ever-present cards from his pants pocket and began shuffling them, occasionally stopping to flip a card, revealing whatever particular one he had been manipulating through the deck.  "Do you wish to speak of it?" he asked casually.

Alex left the quilt alone and looked up at the stars that could be seen intermittently among the silvery edges of the clouds above them.  "Not really," she shrugged.  "I just needed to clear my head a bit."

Ezra raised an eyebrow at her.  "And this required sitting out here in the middle of the night in this freezing weather?"

She finally looked at him and smiled with another shrug.  "Well, yeah. It's rejuvenating, don't you think?" her smile turned mischievous.

He snorted in disbelief, the cards halting in mid-shuffle. "Frankly, my dear, I do not.  Rejuvenating is relaxing in a nice warm Jacuzzi with a bottle of champagne and a beautiful woman by my side or a seat in a high-stakes poker tournament in Vegas, not sitting out on my balcony in the middle of winter, freezing my appendages off."

"You southern boys are just a bunch of pansies," she laughed.  "The least little bit of a chill sends you guys into a panicked race for the nearest winter coat and space heater."

"And the least little bit of heat sends you Yankees into a frenzied rush for the comforts of your air conditioners," he retorted.  "A true southern gentleman can endure the most extreme hardship when necessity demands it; however, he is intelligent enough to avoid such situations if at all possible.  Life is too short, after all, to waste for mere principle.  One should keep his own comfort and gain firmly to the forefront."

"And I suppose you consider yourself to be one of these so-called gentlemen?" Alex scoffed.  "And just who are you calling a Yankee?  The majority of my home state lies below the Mason Dixon line, thank you very much."

"Ah, but your home state also chose to side with the northern aggressors, thereby proving their break with the south," Ezra replied smugly.

"Yes, well we may not be Johnny Rebs, but we're not Yankees, either," she shot back.  "Personally, I consider us to be neither north nor south—just the best of both worlds."

He shook his head.  "That region is indeed a curious mix of both, though I don't know if I would go so far as to call it the best of either," he smirked as he began shuffling the cards once again.

"It just depends on what your definition of value is.  Yeah, West Virginia is behind the times, but what we lack in technology we make up for in strength of family.  And I do believe that is something you southerners take great pride in," she replied smartly.

Ezra settled more comfortably against the wall and laughed, his gold tooth glinting in the moonlight.  "You indeed have a southern woman's insistence on having the last word, don't you?"

She snorted.  "We have to.  It's the only way to keep you men's egos in check.  Men are full of hot air and no common sense.  Nothing would ever get done if you didn't have a decent woman to prod you along."

"You are quite right, my dear, and I concede the point to you," Ezra agreed with another laugh.  "Though I must say, I pity the man who ends up marrying you.  He will have to be quite tolerant and quick-witted to keep up with you."

"And who says I have to get married?" she challenged.

"Who indeed?" Ezra chuckled.  They lapsed back into a comfortable silence then, content to focus on their own musings as they listened to the sounds of the night.  

He continued to shuffle his cards, but studied his companion out of the corner of his eye.  She sat with one leg stretched out in front of her while leaning cross-armed on the bent knee of the other one, gazing intently out into the darkness with an inscrutable expression on her face.  But moonlight has a way of revealing things that would otherwise be concealed in the daylight, and for the first time, in the dark depths of her weary, world-wise eyes, he caught a glimpse of the frightened, lost, and lonely little girl she kept hidden deep within her heart.  Here in the night, with no one else around to witness anything and no one to protect herself from, she seemed to let her walls of confidence and care down just a bit to reveal a piece of herself that he had not seen before.  The highlights in her hair caught the gray-blue of the moonlight and created a bit of a melancholy aura about her, and he could almost feel the weariness and grief that seemed to surround her at that moment. 

And somewhere deep in the hidden corners of his soul, a kinship, an understanding sparked to life and his heart went out to her.  

His hands moved with amazing dexterity as the cards flashed through his fingers at lightening speed, the sound a soothing hum in the background of his musings.  He understood her need to appear strong, to deal with the feelings in her own way.  But he also knew all too well that sometimes holding the hurt inside only made things worse in the long run, and he was determined to do what he could to prevent the girl from sliding into that hell again. 

That thought surprised him.  When had this girl's emotional well-being become his concern?  He shook his head at himself.  After all, once they contacted her father's old employers, she would probably be immediately moved to another safe house well away from Denver and he would never see nor hear from her again, unless the judge could work his magic and actually win the ensuing power struggle to have her returned for the Randolph trial, which wasn't likely.  So why should it matter to him that she have someone to unload some of her burden to? 

_Because you know what it's like to be alone, caught up in a situation of which you have no control, _a small child-like voice spoke up from the back of his mind.  _Because you know what it's like to long for someone to care about you as a person, not because of what you can do for them._  _Because you know what it's like to wish for just one friend._ He quickly pushed that thought back into its box and mentally slammed the lid shut, not wanting to deal with the feelings that came with it.  Instead, he turned his meditations to the events of that evening:

_They had all stared at her in mute silence for a moment, absorbing her words. "You want to run that by me again, darling?" Buck spoke up finally._

_Alex crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall beside the window, the torrent of emotions that had seemed to fill her moments ago shuttered firmly behind her eyes.  Her face was now calm, but the anger and a hint of grief still glinted in her eyes.  "Six years ago, Sean Bartinol murdered my parents in front of me."_

_"Why?" JD asked._

_She let out a breath slowly.  "That report your friend got you says that he's been practically untouchable, right?  That no one has ever come close to bringing him down?"_

_"Yeah.__  So…" JD motioned for her to continue._

_"It's not completely true," she explained._

_"Someone did get close?" Nathan sat back down at the dining room table and leaned back in the chair, drumming his fingers quietly against the surface._

_She nodded and uncrossed her arms, slipping her hands in the pockets of her jeans instead.  "Six years ago, an FBI agent working for Interpol completed an investigation against the man and planned the bust to arrest him.  If the agent had succeeded, Bartinol's entire organization would have come crumbling down around him.  The man himself would have at the very least spent the rest of his life in a maximum security prison with no chance at parole."_

_"But the agent didn't succeed," Josiah observed from where he sat at the opposite end of the table, tapping his steepled fingers against his lips thoughtfully._

_Alex looked down at her feet and sighed.  "No, he did not.  And it got him killed, despite his precautions and his painstaking plans.  You see, that agent had a weakness."_

_"A family," Chris filled in for her grimly, his own loss shadowing his expression._

_She nodded.  "A wife and a daughter.  Not to mention a brother and his family and a father, to a lesser degree." She sighed.  "Bartinol had no qualms against using that weakness, either, especially if his self-preservation was on the line.  The agent knew this, and did everything in his power to prevent that, but," she shrugged, "It just wasn't enough."_

_"And Bartinol got to your Dad before he was ready to face him," Vin picked up the storyline from where he leaned against the tall filing cabinet in the corner opposite the computer desk._

_Alex looked up at him in mild surprise then smirked a little, realizing she should have expected the perceptive tracker to be a few steps ahead of her.  "Yes, my father was the agent.  Dad had been working for a long time on that case.  From what I found out later, he had gotten a lucky break inside at another operation he performed in France years before and had been building on that break ever since.  Only his boss, his partner, and a few other higher ups knew what he was working on, partly because he was doing it mainly on his own, and partly because they didn't want to tip Bartinol off.  And then, there at the end, Dad even stopped reporting to them."_

_"Why?" JD asked, turning to sit in the desk chair backwards._

_"Because he feared betrayal.__  You see, the closer he got to Bartinol, the more he learned about just how much control the man had.  The reason Bartinol had been so successful was because of the information network he had about the activities of his enemies," she answered._

_"In other words, the man has spies and paid officials in all of the pertinent areas of law enforcement," Ezra pointed out from where he was seated across from Nathan._

_She nodded.  "Yes.  And one of those spies found out what Dad was planning despite his best efforts to keep it concealed and tipped Bartinol off."_

_Chris sat down on the edge of the desk beside JD and leaned on his leg while focusing his intense gaze on the girl.  "I think you'd better tell us exactly what happened," he stated._

_And she did.  They listened in quiet shock as she calmly told them the entire story, from her dad's entrance at the house to the explosion of the yacht, leaving out none of the details.  Her face remained impassive, her voice carefully controlled and matter-of-fact, but the horror of the account was not lost on her audience, and when she was finished, they sat in silence, trying to control their outrage and fury at the man on her behalf._

_"So what happened after the explosion?" Vin asked quietly._

_"I escaped into the woods.  Three days later, I stumbled upon a small town up the coast and found the local law, who got in touch with Interpol and dad's boss.  That evening, I was on a plane bound for D.C.," She answered._

_"And what happened to your father's evidence?" Ezra asked._

_"Bartinal destroyed the first set.  Dad's boss and partner knew he had a second, but they could never find them," Alex shrugged.  "Interpol and FBI agents went over everything even remotely connected to my father but found nothing.  They finally just assumed that Dad had them with him on the yacht or that Bartinol found them."_

_"But you don't agree," Vin observed._

_She sighed.  "No, I don't.  First of all, if Bartinol had them, then why did the house get ransacked a few days later?  Dad's office was turned upside down and the storage building he rented in town mysteriously caught fire around the same time, destroying everything he had in there," she shook her head.  "No Bartinol knew they existed, but he didn't have them.  Which brings me to the second point.  Dad was a very cautious man.  There's no way he would have endangered all those years of work by carrying the copies with him.  He would have stashed them somewhere.  Of course, since Dad knew about Bartinol's spies, he would have hid that set well.  And he did—well enough that to my knowledge, no one has found them yet."  
  
_

_"What about your grandfather and uncle?" Ezra asked quietly._

_Alex turned her gaze to the floor at her feet, her features composed, but he could still read the sadness in her eyes.  "I got to talk to them once or twice, but we were never brought together," she said softly.  "Agents in France worked to take care of my uncle's family, and they kept them in Europe.  I think they moved Grandpa to Central America somewhere.  I never did get to see any of them."_

_"That doesn't explain how you wound up on the streets in __Denver__ six years later," Chris pointed out, pulling her back to the topic at hand._

_Alex shrugged.  "A few weeks later, the agents decided to move me to a safe house somewhere in North Carolina.  Someone tipped Bartinol off, because an attack happened en route. Bartinol's men attacked us in the middle of nowhere.  He must have sent a small army.  Can you believe it? Twenty men to take one little girl," she laughed in disbelief.  "Anyway, they had us cornered in some little gully."  She shrugged one shoulder self-depreciatingly.  "Like I said, I was just a kid, and I was scared out of my mind, especially when I saw a guy get his head blown off not ten feet from where I was being hid."  She winced at that thought.  "I don't remember much after that, just the need to get away, to hide.  So when an opportunity showed itself, I ran.  And I never looked back."_

_Nathan stared at her in disbelief.  "You just took off into the woods on your own with no supplies or anything?"_

_Alex returned his look with another shrug.  "Yeah, I did.  I know, it wasn't the smartest decision I ever made in my life, and in actuality, it was probably pretty stupid, but you have to understand something.  I was a kid who had just witnessed her parents' murder and was being hunted down by the man who did it.  I was scared.  Scared silly.  What kid wouldn't be?  My first instinct was to run, and being a kid, I didn't stop to think that through."_

_"But how did you wind up in __Denver__?"  JD questioned in amazement._

_Alex grinned at him on that one.  "A person can get around in six years, even if they do walk most of the way."_

_"And you got here just in time to witness another murder," Buck whistled and shook his head in sympathy.  "D**n, girl.  You attract trouble like fleas to a blue tick hound!"_

_Chris stood up from where he was seated on the corner of the computer desk and rubbed his eyes tiredly.  "This case just blew up into one h**l of a mess, guys," he sighed.  "And there is no way we're going to be let alone to handle it ourselves.  Every two-bit agency from here to Timbuktu is going to want a piece of this."_

_"So what are we going to do?" Nathan asked._

_Chris rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  "Contact the judge and have him get the ball rolling on the interagency thing.  Keep it as quiet as possible.  If this Bartinol guy has those kinds of contacts, then we're going to have to be mighty careful who we let in on this."  He glanced at his watch and grimaced at the time.  "The Judge will back tomorrow.  We'll keep Ezra and Alex here for the night then move them somewhere safer tomorrow."  He raised a hand to stop Ezra's comment.  "As soon as we contact Interpol, the potential is going to exist for Bartinol to find out where Alex is.  This townhouse is in a residential area in the middle of the city.  There is no way we're going to be able to protect her from here."_

_Ezra just crossed his arms and grinned at his boss.  "My thoughts exactly, Mr. Larabee."_

_Chris raised an eyebrow in surprise.  The man was agreeing with him without an argument?  _

_Now that was a first!_

_"Why can't we just take these guys at the bust on Friday before we let on where Alex is?"  JD spoke up._

_"Believe me, kid, I'd love to, but we can't," Vin shook his head._

_"There's rules and regulations we have to follow, JD," Nathan picked up.  "In order to pin this guy down and make it stick, we're going to have to follow those rules to the letter, especially as high profile as this case has just gotten. And I don't think the judge will be able to cover for us if we were to bend those, not this time."_

_"Besides, with as big a fish as this guy is, I don't think we'd _want_ to tackle this on our own."  Josiah mused._

_"Nope," Buck agreed.  "We're good, but even we have to admit when we need help once in a while."  They all fixed him with an incredulous look and he lifted his palms, face up in a who me? gesture.  "What?"_

_"Like I said, I'll contact the judge in the morning, show him what we got, and we'll go from there," Chris said, shaking his head in amusement.  He stood up and pulled on his jacket, indicating to the rest that it was time to leave.  "Nathan, stay here for the night," he ordered._

_The others stood up to follow him.  "You know that just as soon as we contact Interpol, we'll be more than likely kicked off this case," Josiah commented as he pulled his own winter coat on and adjusted the collar._

_Chris turned back to him, his eyes glittering with determination.  "Not if I can help it."_

Ezra pocketed his cards with a sigh and climbed to his feet before offering Alex a hand up.  "I do believe we should be returning inside.  Besides the fact that it _is _dangerous to be out here right now, Mr. Jackson will surely have a conniption if he were to find us outside in the middle of winter without the proper attire.  And I can assure you, my dear, we do not want to become ill.  While Mr. Jackson is an excellent medic, his bedside manners are equivalent to that of Attila the Hun," he shuddered dramatically.

Alex laughed softly as she took his hand then gathered her quilt up quickly before following him into the warm interior.  She watched as he locked the doors and turned to her with a wide smile, his glinting gold tooth and sparkling green eyes making him look decidedly mischievous. "Well, that was certainly _invigorating_," he quipped as he rubbed his arms to warm them.  "I believe that I could use a night cap before I retire.  Would you like to join me?" 

Alex hesitated at the offer and looked up into his eyes, suddenly realizing what he was trying to do.  Her initial reaction was to politely tell him no and go to her bedroom, but another part of her wanted the company, the companionship that he was offering to her.  

"I do make a fine cup of cocoa, if I do say so myself," he continued, seeing the uncertainty in her stance.

She bit her lower lip in indecision for a moment and glanced at the darkened doorway of the guestroom before deciding that she really didn't want to be alone right now with her thoughts. That made up her mind and she smiled softly back at him.  "Cocoa does sound good right now," she admitted shyly.

He held his arm out and bowed slightly, indicating that she should precede him to the stairs.  "Then shall we?"

She nodded with a quiet laugh and headed for the steps.  "Oh, and Miss Sanders," his question stopped her at the landing and she turned back to face him.  "If you should find it necessary to discuss the matters that you divulged tonight," he coughed a bit, "I can promise a sympathetic ear," he said softly, his steady green gaze echoing the pledge.

She ducked her head a bit then smiled back up at him, patting his arm.  "I'll remember that," she said quietly.  "And thank you."  She motioned for the stairs and her smile grew wider.  "Now, I hope you have some marshmallows down there somewhere.  It's just not cocoa without them."

Ezra laughed.  "I believe we can scrounge up something."


	14. Here comes the Judge

CHAPTER 14 

Judge Travis adjusted his grip on his briefcase and glanced at his watch as the elevator arrived at the top floor of the federal building with a ding.  He patiently waited for the polished steel doors to open then strode purposely past the reception desk, nodding a greeting to the young woman behind it as she raised a hand in acknowledgement without breaking the telephone conversation she was involved in.  The noise of the office as clerks and other personnel worked busily from within the cubicles scattered around the area was just a hum in the background to him as he crossed the expanse and turned down the long hall leading to his quarters.  The noise faded in the distance and quiet enveloped him as he passed several offices before reaching the frosted glass door bearing the name Assistant Director at the end of the passageway.

"Good morning, sir.  How was the Colorado Springs meeting yesterday?"  Sherry White, his tough, no-nonsense secretary greeted him with a cup of coffee and a smile.  She was a thirty-year veteran of the legal system and had been the best secretary he ever had during his years on the bench.  When he had been offered his current position within the newly formed Special Forces Division of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, he had immediately asked her to join him.  She had seen it all during her career, and very little fazed or intimidated her. She was organized, efficient, professional—and easily held her own against the toughest opponents, including Chris Larabee and the yahoos he called a team.  She was one of the very few—actually, the _only_—person he had ever seen that could back down the awesome power that was team seven's leader on a continual basis, even if it was only for a step or two.

That ability alone made her worth all the gold in Fort Knox, as far as he was concerned.

"Typical." he grimaced at the memory of the business meeting that had tied up his entire day yesterday.  He sipped at his coffee and headed for his office.  "What is on the agenda for today?"

Sherry fell in step beside him.  "You have a nine o'clock briefing with team two on their progress with the Newman case, a ten o'clock meeting concerning the operations budget for next quarter, a twelve-thirty lunch with Justice Harvey, and a two-o'clock conference call with the attorney general.  Team eight's reports on their last case are waiting on your desk for your approval, on time as usual, unlike certain other teams," she frowned in disapproval and he took another sip of coffee to hide his amused smile, knowing exactly to which team she was referring.  "Team one's requisition for assistance on their next case is waiting for you as well, along with team four's funds request for theirs," she continued as he pushed his office door open. 

"Oh, and Mr. Randolph called asking—"she stopped in mid-sentence as they entered the room and froze to see the darkly-dressed man leaning casually on the edge of the marble-topped desk, his hands in the pockets of the black leather jacket he wore and his ankles crossed, the steel toe of the black boot on top glinting in the florescent light overhead.  "Mr. Larabee!" she exclaimed.  "How did you get in here?"

Chris straightened up and focused a piercing green gaze on the man before him with barely a glance at the secretary.  "We have to talk, Sir," he said seriously.  

"About?" the magistrate raised a brow in question.

"We have a new lead in our case. It's important."

"Important enough to justify breaking into my office and bypassing the usual channels?" 

Chris didn't even flinch at the veiled reprimand.  "Yes, Sir," he answered solemly.

Travis studied the man before him for a moment then motioned to one of the wing-backed chairs to the side as he stepped behind his desk and laid his briefcase on the surface.  "Have a seat," he directed, but the man didn't move.

"Not here," Chris shook his head.  "I need you to come with me." 

The judge focused on the team leader's eyes for a moment with a narrowed gaze then nodded once in decision.  "Sherry, clear my schedule," he ordered, handing her the coffee mug as he passed her, following the man out of the office and leaving her standing in the middle of the space, sputtering in exasperation.

"You found Standish, then?" he asked as they exited the elevator into the garage a few minutes later.  He was a bit surprised to see Vin Tanner leaning against the side of a non-descript sedan parked close to the elevator, but didn't comment.

The tracker opened the passenger side door for the older man and nodded in answer to the unspoken question in Chris's eye, indicating that everything was clear before he climbed into the back seat.  Chris slid behind the wheel and started the vehicle.  "We found him," he answered as he backed out of the parking space.

"Is he alright?" the judge asked in concern.

"He's just fine, Sir," Vin met the older man's eyes in the rearview mirror, a slight smile stealing across his face in reassurance.

"Then he had better have one h**l of an explanation for his disappearance," the magistrate commented gruffly, a hint of anger flaring to life in his visage as he pulled his seatbelt across his lap.

"He does," Chris replied, pulling out into the busy morning traffic.

"And?"

Chris glanced into his rearview mirror to make sure they weren't being followed before turning to his boss.  "We'll explain everything when we get there."

Not satisfied with the answer, but realizing that he would learn nothing else from the two laconic agents, Travis dropped his line of questioning and settled back into his seat.  He noticed their constant vigilance and frowned, wondering just what the trouble-prone team had gotten themselves into this time.

* * * * * * *

"I don't believe it!" he growled forty-five minutes later from his seat on Ezra's couch, looking up from the files and photographs in his hands and interrupting the explanation that Ezra had been reiterating to him. "I have known Paul Randolph for years.  He's a model citizen. He routinely donates to several charities around the city and was a staunch supporter of the crack down on crime the mayor launched in this city last year.  H**l, he was of the key voices that brought the very organization that you work for into existence here in Denver!  There is no possible way that he could be involved in something like this!"

Ezra grimaced slightly at the anger in the older man's voice, and averted his eyes from the accusing glare directed at him. 

He had known this was going to be laid directly at his feet.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid the evidence speaks for itself.  I personally witnessed his nefarious activities first hand.  Paul Randolph is indeed the power behind one of the largest criminal organizations in this state," he stated firmly.

"And I'm supposed to take _your_ word for that," the judge snapped back in irritation as he flipped through the photos in his hand once more, trying to come up with any explanation for his long-time friend's presence in them other than the obvious.

JD straightened from his slouch against the opposite wall in indignation, ready to come to his friend's defense, but a sharp, scornful voice from the doorway beat him to it.  "No sir, you are supposed to set personal feelings aside and look at the facts in hand objectively and believe that evidence."  

Judge Travis looked up and watched with the others as a young lady he had never seen before stepped into the room.  Quiet blue eyes met his steel gray ones in a steady gaze with a hint of respect, a measure of self-confidence, and a healthy portion of ire at the perceived insult in his words. A long braid trailed over her shoulder and she flipped it behind her back as she came to stand beside the undercover agent across the coffee table from him.  "The fact that you have _two_ eye witnesses to back up what you have in your hands, especially when one of those witnesses is your own agent who risked his life getting this to you, should only be a side benefit.  Or are you in the habit of foolishly tossing aside a case because it affects you personally?" 

The judge frowned at the girl, bristling at the obvious rebuke.  "And you are?"

Alex held out her hand in greeting, meeting his austere gaze unflinchingly.  "Alexandria Sanders, Sir."

Travis shook her hand, noting her polite introduction and firm handshake while taking in her clean but worn appearance, which stood as a stark contrast to the polished style of the man beside her.  "And what is your role in all of this, Miss Sanders?" he asked, fixing her with a stern gaze.

"I was in the hangar on Thursday night and saw him," she pointed to the photo of Randolph lying on the coffee table where the judge had dropped it, "enter the building and give orders to the man who was overseeing the transfer.  I also witnessed a murder that he directly ordered and watched, and almost witnessed the execution of Mr. Standish as well, that was also directly ordered by him." She stood tall and lifted her chin slightly in her anger.  "Or are you going to doubt my word as well?"

"No, young lady, I am not," the judge replied sharply, focusing his dark and forbidding gaze directly on the girl, "nor am I disregarding the evidence that Agent Standish has gathered."  _And I do not appreciate having my authority and integrity questioned, _his expression declared.

_Neither do I, _Alex's intense blue eyes flashed back defiantly, refusing to be intimidated or cowed.

He finally ended the staring contest after a moment, reached down to pick up the photograph of his old friend, and studied it, his expression growing just a bit wistful and melancholy as he slowly sat back against the cushions behind him.  He pinched the bridge of his nose and laid the picture back on the pile before looking up at the others in the room.  His features were composed, but he looked as though he had aged ten years in the last five minutes as he sighed.  "Alright," he said, a hint of anger and hurt darkening his eyes to a stormy gray, "Explain to me again just what we have on our hands here and what we can do to bring him down."

Ezra and the others took turns outlining the events of the past weekend, including his escape from the hangar with Alex's help, the discovery of Banning's involvement as well as that of the construction company, and the discovery of the warehouse leading to the contact with Team Seven.  Ezra ended the story by outlining Alex's involvement in his escape and her help in the investigation.  "Her diversionary tactic was most advantageous for myself, Sir," he concluded.  "If she had not seen fit to intervene, I most certainly would not be here tonight."  

The judge looked at the girl again and raised an eyebrow, revising his earlier estimation of her, and she colored slightly at the praise.  He turned his attention back to his agent with an amused glint in his eyes. "Was the explosion a result of this 'diversionary tactic'?" he asked dryly.

"Ah, no, sir," Ezra coughed slightly.  "That unfortunate happenstance was due to a faulty gas line and the attempt of one of the miscreants to perforate myself with a few rounds from an assault rifle."

Travis shook his head.  "You boys just can't do anything by halves, can you?"

They all shifted uncomfortably and averted their eyes from his censuring gaze.

The judge broke off his silent reprimand and sighed, rubbing a hand across his face before once again focusing on Ezra.  "That still does not explain your lack of contact for three days, agent."

"I had no choice, Sir.  Randolph recognized me immediately.  With his close connections to yourself and the ATF, it was necessary that I cut all communication ties with the agency to ensure the safety of myself and that of Miss Sanders," Ezra explained.  "It is imperative that Randolph believe us to be deceased, or that he remain without knowledge of our whereabouts at least.  And I was able to utilize the time to continue my investigation of the organization."

"I don't like it either, but I have to admit he has a point," Chris spoke up from one of the recliners in defense of his agent, much to Ezra's surprise. "Randolph is intent on expanding his business, and as long as he thinks we have no idea where Ezra is, he'll feel safe enough to continue with his meeting with Hammings on Friday."

"But if he finds out Ez has gotten in touch with us, he'll split," Vin picked up the train of thought.  

"With his ties to the foreign markets, he'll easily disappear and rebuild his empire somewhere else," Nathan added.

"And he would probably come after Ezra later in the future," Josiah pointed out.  "The murder of Bannings suggests that he won't tolerate betrayal of any kind.  And with the loss of his American holdings and reputation, it only follows that he'll want revenge on the agent responsible."

The judge tapped his chin and grunted. "So you believe that this meeting Friday is the only chance we'll have at bringing this organization down, then."

"Yes, sir," Chris answered.

The magistrate nodded at the leader.  "Anything you need for this operation, you have, Chris," he said.  His eyes narrowed in fierce anger and his voice took on a hard edge.  "I want this organization brought down." 

Chris rubbed a hand across his eyes and sighed.  "It's not that easy, sir."

Travis raised an eyebrow, demanding an explanation.

"It turns out this Hammings guy is more than just a gun smuggler," JD filled in as he handed the judge a second set of folders that he held in his hand.  "He's actually a well-established criminal mastermind wanted in several countries around the world."

"His real name is Sean Bartinol.  He's started out as a thief back in the late seventies and worked himself up in the world," Nathan explained from his seat on the piano bench.  "Besides his black market sales of stolen artifacts, he also deals in the mass manufacture and distribution of narcotics in Asia and South America, Poaching in Africa, as well as illegal weapons sales to third world countries and terrorists.  From what the European authorities can tell, he has ties to the Japanese, Russian, and Chinese Mafias, as well as a host of other criminal families across the continent."

"The man is extremely careful," Josiah added from the other recliner.  "Compare him to Sherlock Holmes's Professor Moriarty, if you will.  Interpol, Scotland Yard—even the Russian Secret Police and German authorities have been after this guy for years and have never even come close.  He hides his tracks extremely well, and has an extraordinary ability to play the system."

"But he will be at this meeting in person," Nathan continued.  "He wants to expand further in the US and will be _here_, in Denver, on Friday.  This one bust has the potential of bringing down not only Randolph and his organization, but Bartinol as well.  It's a once in a lifetime chance."  

It was the judge's turn to sigh as he took in the full implications of Nathan's statement.  "In other words, this has just turned into a jurisdictional three ring circus," he grimaced.

"That would be about it, sir," Buck agreed, shifting his stance against the doorway beside the couch and crossing his arms.

The judge leaned back against the couch and rubbed his forehead wearily.  "Wonderful," he sighed.

"It gets worse," Chris interjected grimly.

Travis looked up at the agent in disbelief.  "Worse?"

"Alex here has run into Bartinol in the past," Buck answered helpfully with a nod at the girl.

The judge turned his attention to the girl still standing beside Standish and cocked his head inquiringly.  "Explain."

Alex gave him a shortened account of the story she had shared with the others, a bit amazed to find herself doing so not once, but twice in less than twenty-four hours.  The room lapsed into silence as she ended the narrative, the others waiting to see the judge's reaction.

Travis, for his part, sat back in disbelief, hardly able to believe the coincidence.  He glanced up at the girl, but she slipped her hands into her jeans pockets and looked down at the photographs with a hooded expression on her face, avoiding his gaze.  He felt a flash of sympathy for her before he turned his attention to the team leader. "What do you want to do?" he asked.

Chris leaned forward in his seat, a feral light coming to his eye.  "We already have teams eight and three keeping an eye on the warehouse and the construction company.  I want to continue with our plans for the bust on Friday."

"With the involvement of Bartinol, you do understand that we will have to contact Interpol and the FBI, at the very least," Travis pointed out.

"Yes sir, we realize that," Chris nodded, "and we're willing to work with them.  But I want it made clear that this is _our _case and that we have a say in what happens.  I do not want regulated to back up or kicked off the case entirely."  His expression clearly indicated that he would not negotiate his terms.

The judge rubbed his chin thoughtfully before nodding in agreement.  "I'll see what I can do."  He pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and turned it on.  "Well, Boys, let's get this ball rolling," he commented as he quickly thumbed a number onto the keypad before turning to the girl.  "Now.  What did you say was the name of your father's supervisor for Interpol?"

* * * * * * *

Timothy Johnson sat at his desk in his plush office in Washington, D.C., hard at work on the latest cases to pass into his hands.  The senior agent had seen more than his share of violence and victims in his twenty years of field service for the FBI followed by the last ten years in the US National Central Bureau of Interpol, and would have assumed that he had grown hard in all that time, but some crimes and atrocities still managed to get to him.  

Such was the latest case that he had completed, involving an international prostitution ring.  The women—no, the _girls_—were mostly from third world countries in South America and Eastern Europe.  Many had been promised a new home and life in America only to arrive to find themselves trapped in a horror much worse than what they had been living in at home.  Others had been kidnapped and some had even been sold into service.  No matter the circumstances, all the women were treated like objects to be bought and sold, used and abused, with no regard to their well-being or rights to humanity.  Indeed, they had been stripped of that humanity and regulated to the level of animals.  The mere thought of the horrors that they had faced still sickened the agent, and even now that the ring was broken, the girls were finally getting the help that they needed, and the monsters who had exploited them getting their just reward, he still had trouble containing his anger.  It was one time that he was thankful for the mountain of paperwork that only seemed to grow larger on his desk.  

It would prove to be the perfect distraction.

He completed his report and sat back with a sigh, reaching for the lukewarm cup of coffee sitting at his elbow and swiveling his desk chair around so that he could take in the view of the snow-covered lawn outside his window.  The crisp blue sky above and the warm rays of the late morning sun spilling in through the glass helped to calm his spirit some and he closed his eyes, enjoying the stolen moment of peace.  Lately, he had been feeling every bit of his fifty-eight years, the aches and pains left from the various abuses and wounds he had subject his body to over the decades becoming more pronounced.  Perhaps his wife was right—he needed to take some time off.  His last vacation had been to Florida—or was it Southern California?  In all honesty, he could barely remember. It had been three years ago, after all. 

Maybe he could take one weekend and spend some time with his wife—it had been a while since they had really been able to just sit and talk.  They could head for one of the ski resorts in the Appalachians, rent a cabin, spend a few days getting to know each other again. It would be nice to leave the bustle of the nation's capitol for a while and get away to someplace quieter, more peaceful, simpler.

The idea was definitely appealing, and he could think of the perfect place to hide away for a while, too.  And it was no more than a five hour drive from home, nestled in the hills of Northern West Virginia.  The thought of the state brought to mind a picture of his young partner during the final years of his tenure with the FBI, and his smile turned wistful.  The brash young man had been a remarkable agent, with a cool head and great instincts for the job, despite his age.  Though he himself had been in the role of supervisor and senior agent to the young man, they had gone beyond that and formed a fast friendship that had lasted long after their partnership ended with his taking his present position with the Interpol office and Allen going on to larger and greater things with a new partner. And then they found themselves once again working together, when Sanders and his new partner accepted an assignment from the FBI to the Interpol office.

His thoughts turned maudlin as they eventually led up to their last case together—the one in which he had failed the young man, his partner and friend.  His smile faded into a frown and he turned from the window, the enjoyment of the day gone.  Had it really been six years since that fateful day, the day that he had lost that friend?  Where had the time gone?

He shook his head and reached for the next pile of papers sitting in his in-box after placing his mug back on the coaster beside the phone.  Though lunch was in about thirty minutes, he needed something to turn his thoughts from the dark trail they had started down.

His phone suddenly rang, and he reached for the speaker phone button without evening looking up.  "Yes?"

_Mr. Johnson?  There is a phone call for you on line two.  It's from an Orrin Travis, in __Denver__, __Colorado__. _ The voice of his secretary sounded loud and clear over the microphone.

He stopped what he was doing and frowned at the phone.  "Orrin Travis?  I don't believe I've met the man.  Who is he?"

_You haven't, sir.  He is a retired federal judge and is now the Assistant Director for that new special forces division of the ATF that started up out there not too long ago.  He says that he needs to speak with you regarding a case one of his teams is working on.  He says it's urgent."_

"Put him through, then, Carol."  Johnson laid his pen down and sat back in his chair.

_Mr. Johnson? _ A new voice came over the line a few moments later.

"I am he.  And you are the Honorable Orrin Travis from Denver?" Johnson answered.

_I can assume your secretary has told you who I am, then._

"Yes, she did.  So what can I do for the ATF?" he asked as he reached for his coffee mug.

_During the course of their investigation into an illegal weapons merchant here in __Colorado__, one of my teams recently uncovered evidence linking the said gun runner to a man named Sean Bartinol.  I was told that you have had a past connection with the man?_

"Bartinol!" Johnson exclaimed, nearly dropping the mug in shock.

_Yes.  It seems that he has decided to expand his enterprises into this area and has set up a meeting with our gun runner.  He will be personally attending. We thought that you would like to be involved in the arrests._

"Bartinol?  In the US?"  his expression hardened and he balled his free hand into a fist.  "When and where?" Thoughts of retribution and finally arresting the man responsible for the death of his friend filled his mind.

_From what my team has found, he will be arriving here in __Denver__ on Thursday night and will be escorted to the meeting Friday morning.  Realizing that this has become an international matter with his involvement, we are asking for your organization's assistance.  We have also been made aware of Bartinol's information network in various agencies, and thus ask that this be kept on a strict need-to-know basis.  We do not want to jeopardize the mission or the lives of the witnesses involved._

"Of course.  You will definitely have all the help you need from Interpol.  And you're right—the man does have spies everywhere, something I found out the hard way, I'm afraid.  We have done everything possible to find those leaks, but…" he trailed off as he lifted the mug to his lips.  A sudden thought occurred to him, and he paused.  "I know that it is standard procedure to ask for our assistance in matters involving international crime of this nature, but how did you know of my personal interest in Bartinol?"  

A new voice answered his question.  _We've been told that six years ago, an FBI agent assigned to you was working on a case involving Bartinol.  Something went wrong, Bartinol found out, and the agent, an Allen Sanders, was killed along with his wife, while Bartinol escaped."_

"And you are?" Johnson asked sharply, realizing that the judge must have had him on speaker as well. 

_Chris Larabee, team leader in charge of this investigation._

"Agent Larabee.  You are correct on all accounts, but that investigation was kept under tight security.  Who told you about it?" he questioned, taking a sip of his coffee.

_Alexandria__ Sanders.___

Johnson spewed his drink across his desk.  "That's impossible!" he coughed.  "She's dead!"

_If that's the case, then I wished someone would have told me about it._

The voice that answered was older than he remembered, more mature, but definitely unmistakable. "Alex?" he gasped.  "You're alive?"

_At the moment,_ she responded dryly.

"How?  Are you all right? What are you doing in Denver?  And where the h**l have you been all this time!" he demanded, shock, relief, and anger flooding his voice.

_Let's see.  Bartinol missed, I'm fine, __Denver__ seemed just as good as any place to be, and around.  Does that answer all your questions? _She replied cheekily, a touch of humor coloring her words.

"Smart a**," he growled, shaking his head ruefully, though a somewhat giddy grin slowly spread across his features.  

She was definitely her father's daughter.

_If you don't mind, can we finish the question and answer session later? _Larabee brought their attention back to the matter at hand.

"Yes, yes, of course.  I'll make arrangements for a flight to Denver as soon as I can get there.  You're right—I do want to take care of this personally.  Is there a number where I can reach you? I'll let you know my arrival time."  He quickly wrote down the number Larabee gave him.  "I will most definitely keep this as quiet as possible.  I do _not_ want Bartinol slipping through my fingers again," he declared firmly, a steel-edge entering his voice.

_No, we don't.  I'll have someone waiting for you when you get here, _Chris answered.

"Alright. I'll see you then." He reached for the phone, but paused.  "And Mr. Larabee?"

_Yes?_

"Keep her safe." He quickly disconnected the call and hit the intercom button for his secretary.  "Carol?  I need a flight for two to Denver today, just as soon as you can possibly get it."

_Yes sir._ Came the reply. _Anything else?___

"Clear my schedule for the rest of the week and the beginning of next week.  I'll take care of the rest.  Oh and Carol?  This is to be kept in strictest confidence.  Make the flight arrangements on your personal cell phone, use one of my aliases, and don't keep any records at all.  No one, absolutely no one, is to know of my whereabouts.  Just tell anyone who asks that it was a personal emergency.  Do you understand?"  

_Yes sir, I understand._

"Good.  Thank you, Carol." He sat back for a second, the shock of the call still lingering.  Alex was alive?  And not only that, right in the middle of another case involving Bartinol!  He rubbed his forehead and shook his head in disbelief before reaching for the handset to make one last call.  "Eddie?" he said when the call connected.  "I need you to clear whatever you have going right now.  We're going on a trip.  I'll explain when we're on our way, and I need you to keep it quiet.  Tell no one where you're going.  I'll clear it with the brass for you.  Okay?….Thanks….I'll meet you on the mall in an hour." 

He hung up the phone and rounded his desk, headed for the coat tree in the corner, all thoughts of lunch gone from his mind.  As he reached for his coat, the framed photograph hanging on the wall caught his attention.  He reached up and gently touched the glass protecting the picture of a much younger version of himself sitting in a little row boat, holding up a large bass, his arm around the shoulders of his teammate.  Allen Sanders' brown hair was wind blown, his bright blue eyes twinkling with humor, as they both grinned up at the camera.  In Sanders' lap sat a small girl, no older than six, who proudly help up her own catch of a small blue gill. Johnson closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the long ago camping trip before he turned away and pulled on his coat.  He then strode for the door purposely, but paused in the doorway and glanced back. 

"I won't fail you this time, Al, I promise you that," he whispered, then quietly flipped off the lights and closed the door, leaving the lone picture to reflect the glare from the winter sun into the empty room.


	15. New Players and One Turncoat

Yes, I have finally updated again!  Thanks to all of you who have so graciously taken the time to review.  Every time I have just about convinced myself that this story is really not any good at all, that Ally is just too MarySueish, and that the whole plot, dialogue, characterizations, etc, are way too amateurish and childish-sounding, I get a wonderful review from you guys, which gives me the encouragement I need to keep plodding along.  So thank you so very much!

Cole1:  **waves back with a grin**:  You don't bug me at all!  I practically live for reviews!  And I'm so glad you like Ally.  I was really afraid people wouldn't.  And you think of her as part of the seven?!  I'm flattered!  As for her fate, to be honest, it took me two months to write the final chapter to this story simply because I couldn't make up my mind where to go with her at the end.  So keep tuned in to see what I finally decided!

PinkPanther: I'm so glad you're enjoying this.  And that the last chapter cleared a few things up.  It took me forever to write this story because I'm such a stickler for details, but sometimes things can get past a person, even if they've checked and rechecked at least 5 times!  Anyway, I'm glad that there are people out there reading this and even happier that it seems to be an enjoyable story.  Again, thank you for your reviews!

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CHAPTER 15 

Johnson bundled his coat closer around him and hitched his carry on bag further up onto his shoulder as he and Edward Thomas, Sanders's old partner, followed the large man who had introduced himself as Josiah Sanchez through the crowded airport toward the parking lot outside.  Their 8 p.m. flight into Denver had arrived promptly at twenty minutes after, and they had exited the plane to find Sanchez waiting for them in the terminal, explaining that he had been sent by Larabee to escort them to their temporary headquarters.

A cold wind whipped by them, causing them to shiver, and they were very happy to reach the warmth of the jeep Cherokee with Nathan Jackson inside waiting for them, having come out earlier when the flight arrival had been announced to warm up the vehicle.  They quickly loaded their luggage and managed to get ahead of the rest of the crowd and out onto the highway before the main rush.  Nathan navigated the congested streets easily, and soon they were on the less-crowded interstate westward bound.  "Do you mind if I ask where we're going?" Johnson asked from where he sat in the back, watching the darkened scenery pass by as they climbed up into the mountains.

"No, not at all," Josiah answered pleasantly as he glanced over his shoulder at the man from the front passenger seat.  "We're going to Chris Larabee's ranch.  Chris and the judge decided to set up our base of operations there." 

"Larabee's ranch?  How secure can that be?" Thomas spoke up doubtfully from behind Nathan.  "Shouldn't you have taken the witnesses to a safe house?"

"Chris's ranch is as secure as any safe house," Josiah reassured him.  "It's at the head of a little valley up in the mountains, and secluded.  It's in a pretty defensible position as well, and hard to find unless you know where you're going." 

Thomas glanced over at his friend, who shrugged slightly, and turned his gaze back out his own window, not convinced.

"So what case are you working on and how, exactly, did you find Alex?" Johnson continued, turning his attention back to the preacher.

"Oh, we didn't find her.  It was more of a case of her finding us," Nathan glanced in the rearview mirror at his passengers, amusement glinting in his chocolate eyes.

"Her finding you?  What does that mean?" Thomas asked gruffly.

"Just what it says, brother," Josiah chuckled.  "We'll let Chris and the judge explain it when we get there."

Forty-five minutes later, they pulled up the gravel drive and parked in front of the long, dimly lit ranch house.  Josiah nodded in approval at the young agent who was standing sentry at the edge of the trees, his black clothing barely discernable against the dark backdrop of the forest.  He quickened his step to follow the others inside.

Chris looked up from his place bent over the pool table where he and the judge had several papers spread out to see Nathan enter the front door followed by two men he didn't recognize.  The older one had gray-streaked brown hair and inquisitive brown eyes that spoke of experience and authority as he looked around the room, taking in the men in attendance in a glance.  The other man was shorter, younger, with pale blond hair and hazel eyes that roamed the room untrustingly.  Chris stepped forward and held out his hand in greeting to the first man.  "Timothy Johnson?" he said.  "I'm Chris Larabee.  This is Judge Orrin Travis, JD Dunne, Buck Wilmington, and Ezra Standish from my team, Ryan Kelly, leader for team eight, Mark Pauley, leader for team three, and Captain Jason Reed, from the State Police Department." He motioned to each man as he introduced them. "You've already met Josiah Sanchez and Nathan Jackson." 

Johnson shook each of their hands before stepping further into the room and nodding to his companion.  "This is Edward Thomas of the FBI and former partner of Allen Sanders." Thomas acknowledged the men with a tilt of his head.  

"And I'm Special Agent Martin Lewis, also of the FBI.  I can definitely say that it is nice to have other agents who know how to properly run an investigation present for this case," Lewis shoved his way to the front of the group, glaring at Larabee, knowing that the other man had purposely left his introduction out.

"Agent," Johnson took one look at the man and dismissed him, to Larabee's amusement and Lewis's annoyance.  The Interpol agent instead scanned the room, searching for one face in particular.  "Where's Alex?" he asked with furrowed brows.

"Right here, Mr. Johnson."  He turned to see the girl in question step into the room from a darkened hallway leading to the back of the house.

The group backed away respectfully as Johnson rushed to the girl and enveloped her in a tight hug, relief shining on his face at finally seeing her alive and well for himself.  "It really is you," he whispered as he hugged her again, his eyes glistening with unshed tears of happiness.  He framed her face with his hands then rested them on her shoulders as he stepped back a bit to take a good look at her.  "And look at you!  You've grown up into a beautiful young woman.  You look just like your father.  Doesn't she, Eddie?"

The other agent came forward with a wide grin, his eyes brightening for the first time since entering the room.  "Now, don't go insulting the girl, Tim," he chastised the older man as he reached out to ruffle her hair.  "It's good to see you, kid.  I can tell ya, I didn't believe Tim when he told me what was going on."

Alex sidestepped out of his reach and smiled back softly.  "I think I'd've enjoyed the looks on your and Mr. Johnson's faces," she said teasingly.

Johnson stood back and fixed her with a mock glare.  "Now what's this Mr. Johnson stuff?  I was there the day you were born, girl.  It's Uncle Tim, to you!" he said sternly.

"Uncle Tim," Alex repeated with a shy smile.

"That's better," he nodded in approval.  "Now," he continued, crossing his arms and giving her his best authoritarian look, "Mind telling us just where the h**l you've been for the last six years and what possessed you to run off in the first place?"

She leaned back against the wall and shrugged lightly.  "Here and there.  Wasn't in any one particular place for very long," she answered.  "As for why, well, it seemed to be the best choice at the time."

           "The best choice," Johnson snorted and shook his head.  "Do you realized you scared the h**l out of me?  We believed you were dead!  When you disappeared, I thought Bartinol had gotten to you!  And the more time that passed, the more sure I was.  Why didn't you trust us, trust _me_, to protect you?" he asked quietly.

           Alex wrapped her arms around herself and focused on the floor for a moment before looking back up at him directly, her eyes begging for him to understand.  "It wasn't that I didn't trust you, Uncle Tim," she said softly with a tilt of her head, "it's just that I realized that something a lot bigger than you was at work there.  I was scared."

           "Didn't you know that we would have died before we let that monster get his hands on you?" Thomas asked her, placing his hand on her shoulder.

           Alex backed out from under his hand and looked up at him with a serious expression. "That's exactly what I was afraid would happen."

           The judge stepped forward, coughing lightly to break the moment.  "What happened six years ago doesn't really matter right now," he pointed out to them all.  "What we need to be doing is working out a plan of action to capture Bartinol instead of rehashing the past."

           Johnson turned to face him and nodded in agreement.  "You're right.  Why don't you show us what you've got and what you need."

           They all congregated around the pool table as Chris motioned for Ezra to proceed with the explanation.

* * * * * * *

           Chris watched the Interpol agent and his FBI friend discretely as Ezra recounted his experience in the hangar and told of the evidence they had regarding Randolph.  He was pleased to see that they seemed to be giving him the benefit of the doubt.  He didn't know if that meant they weren't aware of his past experience with their agency, which was highly unlikely, or that they were simply ignoring the rumors and innuendoes and making their own minds up about the man.  

If that was the case, then he'd have to say that they were definitely better men then most of the other pricks from the Federal Bureau of Idiots that he was forced to routinely deal with.

           He also watched his undercover agent.  It was one of the few times that he had a chance to just observe the man, his actions, his responses to the different people in the room, to just listen to him, to the inflections in his voice and to watch his delivery without being on the receiving end, trying to decipher what he was and wasn't saying and trying to hold his own temper in check.  

           No one infuriated him faster than Standish.

           He chuckled quietly to himself, watching the perplexed look pass across Lewis's face as the dimwit tried to follow the conversion, and mentally applauded his agent.  He glanced across the room and caught the judge's eye from the recliner opposite his.  They exchanged rueful glances and the judge just shook his head.  He too had been on the receiving end of more than one of Standish's explanations, but tonight, the man was in rare form.  Chris propped his elbow on his left hand and tapped his lips with the knuckle of his finger as he leaned back in his chair.  Ezra had his features schooled firmly, but Chris was able to catch the slightest smile hinting at the man's lips, one that only someone who knew him would be able to detect.  He chuckled to himself again.  The man certainly was a master of the English language and had manipulation down to an art form.

           That thought caused Chris to pause, and he took a closer look at the man in question, taking note of his posture, of the carefully selected facial expressions and words, of the very air in which the man held himself.  It was a familiar stance and demeanor, one that he saw every time Standish had to report to him or every time he had to give the man a reprimand, but now that he was able to pay attention to the man instead of the words (or maybe now that he was actually taking the time to do so) he could pick up on the small, tell-tell signs of stress and tension.  Again, it wasn't anything noticeable—a tightening of the lips, the ever so slight clenching of the jaw whenever Lewis made a snide remark, the hard light that entered his eyes—but for the first time, Chris noticed them, and they had him wondering.  

Chris studied the smaller man, took a good look at him.  They all teased JD about being the smallest of the group, but he realized that in actuality, Ezra could almost fit that bill.  The difference was that what Ezra lacked in size he made up for in presence.  The man's confident, brazen, and sometimes highly irritating personality could practically fill a room as fast as Buck's charming and raucous one.  But at other times, he had seen the man be as quiet and unassuming as the tracker and, if Chris were to admit it, as opaque and protective of his past as he himself was.

No, Standish may not have Josiah's giant frame, Nathan's height, or his own intimidating presence, but the man had learned long ago other skills that were just as valuable and how to wield those skills with amazing accuracy and precision.  Add in the fact that he accepted his size and used his stature to his own advantage, something that JD should take note of and learn (of course, with the way the kid used those puppy dog eyes of his, maybe he _had_ already learned that lesson), and you came up with one excellent agent, something that most people overlooked until they learned otherwise the hard way.  The man was full of contradictions, smoke and mirrors, talk and class, but those characteristics were what made Standish so good in his field.

And just because the man was small in comparison to others on the team, definitely did not mean that he was puny.  Seeing him dressed now in what Ezra deemed casual clothing without the designer suits, Chris could easily tell that his conman kept himself in top shape.  Which brought up another question—when did the man take the time to work out, which he obviously had to do to be in that kind of shape?  Did he jog?  Did he lift weights?  Chris shook his head, having a hard time picturing the man who claimed to never engage in menial labor ever doing anything of his own free will that would cause him to work up a sweat.  But then again, he had seen the seemingly lazy man use martial arts to take down an opponent before, and that kind of skillful grace demanded a strict practice regimen.

It made him realize just how little about the man he really knew.  Oh, he had seen his file, knew some of the basic details, little as there was, knew about the agent—but what did he know of the man?  Not much, Chris was forced to acknowledge, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit.  How many times had he allowed Ezra to manipulate him, fire his temper, and direct him away from whatever truth, whatever weakness that the man was trying to hide?  How many times had he tore into the other man in a fit of rage and maybe even a little fear at some foolish stunt or perceived callous and selfish action without taking the time to cool down and listen to his reasons?

Maybe Vin was right—maybe he did need to quit letting Ezra get under his skin, quit listening to his words, and start listening to the man himself.  He glanced over to the corner where the tracker was leaning against the wall after coming in from surveillance outside.

Of course, it would be a cold day in hell before he ever admitted _that_ out loud.

He turned his attention from his introspection, which he filed away for later thought when things weren't quite so hectic, and back to the conversation at hand.  Johnson flipped through the ledger and nodded in approval as Ezra finished speaking.  "You've done a good job here, agent," he said, setting the book back down with the rest of the papers scattered across the pool table and giving the other man a brief smile.  "Your whole team has.  This is some of the most thorough and complete work I've seen in a long time."

"Then I don't know what kind of work you've been seeing coming out of Washington," Lewis declared snidely, tossing the stack of photographs down beside the ledger as he stepped into the center of the room.  "Because personally, I can see all kinds of holes in this 'evidence'."

"Oh come on, Lewis," Buck spoke up angrily, "that's a bunch of bull s**t and you know it."

"On the contrary, Mr. Wilmington," Lewis went on, an oily smile on his face.  "What do we really have here?  A company with poor bookkeeping skills?  A foreman who _may_ be a wanted man in Phoenix or who may just happen to look like him? A banker with a gambling problem?  And a tape _supposedly_ of the mastermind behind this whole thing?  Come now, Mr. Standish, you can't possibly expect us to believe that Paul Randolph had anything to do with this?" he scoffed.

Ezra gritted his teeth in the face of the obvious slight at his character, but kept his features neutral.  "I do believe that the evidence speaks for itself, Agent Lewis," he said coolly.

"Ah, yes. The evidence that _you_ compiled.  _You_ found the link between this Banning and this Vitalis, the supposed foreman for said company and gun smuggling operation, _you _dug up the dirt on the construction company and the link between it and Vitalis, _you_ performed the initial surveillance work that produced this tape and those pictures.  So what this all boils down to is that we have _your_ word to take for all this.  But we all know how much that is worth, don't we Standish?" Lewis sneered.  

"What?" JD squeaked indignantly, understanding exactly what the other man was implying.  "Ezra wouldn't do that!" he stood his feet angrily, pushing his hair out of his face, ready to defend his friend.

"What, did Mr. Randolph somehow find out about your dirty hands, so you concocted this elaborate mess to implicate him and get yourself off?  Or maybe the banker discovered it, and you set him up to take your fall?  Maybe you and this Vitalis planned the whole thing.  You _have_ spent the last month in his company."

Buck jumped up, fury clearly all over his face.  "Now that's going too far!" he roared, heading for the senior agent with the intent of tearing his head from his shoulders.  Josiah grabbed his arms and held him back.

"I had thought that even you had enough intelligence to know better than to be making allegations such as that without evidence to back up your claims," Chris said quietly, ripping a page from Ezra's own dictionary as he unfolded himself from the chair and stood to his full height to the FBI man.  Though his words were calm, his stance screamed his anger and his glare, if possible, would have melted the polar ice cap.  "I told you this once, and I will only say it once more, so get it through that thick slab of concrete that you call a head—Ezra Standish is one h**l of an agent, and I would take his word alone on this over the whole d**n FBI's any day of the week.  And the next time I hear you accuse him of being dirty, I will personally rip out your tongue through your a** and shove it back down your throat!  Do you understand me?"

Though the dark leader remained in one place and never even made a move for him, Lewis stumbled backwards as though he had been shot.  Chris inwardly smirked in amusement at the open fear on Lewis's face and the absolute shock in Ezra's eyes.  He didn't know if Ezra's surprise was because he had defended him, or because he couldn't believe that his boss had used more than three words to get his point across, let alone knew what half those words meant, but whatever the reasons, Chris was enjoying the fact that he had for once managed to catch his irritating undercover agent off-guard while making Lewis look like a complete idiot.  He thought he could understand now why Ezra liked using his flowery speech so much.

Using words to make your opponent look like a total moron _was_ just as fun as scaring the living s**t out of them!

"You-you heard him!" Lewis stammered to the others in the room.  "He threatened me!"

Ryan Kelly raised an eyebrow in the direction of the state trooper leaning against the kitchen doorway beside him as they both stayed out of the way and enjoyed the show.  "Did you hear Chris threatening anyone, Captain?" he asked mildly.

Jason Reed took another swig of his beer and shook his head.  "Nope, I didn't hear a thing." He knew better than to cross Larabee.  

Besides, Lewis was being a jerk.

"Agent Lewis, I suggest that you sit down and shut up before you find yourself slapped with a lawsuit, as Agent Standish would be well within his rights to sue you for slander," the judge said coolly from the recliner.  "And considering the number of witnesses in this room at the moment, I can assure you from experience that he would easily win the case."

"But sir—"

Johnson stepped forward and firmly grasped the protesting man's shoulder.  "Agent Lewis, may I remind you that _I _am the ranking FBI agent as well as the representative for Interpol, and that you are here simply as a liaison between myself and the local branch?  Therefore, if you persist in making a fool of yourself and the agency, I _will_ set you out," he interrupted firmly.

"But come on, everyone knows that Standish can't be trusted!  Surely you know about what happened in Atlanta!"  Lewis whined.

"Yes, I have heard.  The inter-agency grapevine extends to DC just was well as out here," Johnson looked at Ezra keenly.  "And I also heard that they had no proof to their charges." 

Lewis pulled his arm out of the senior agent's grasp and straightened his jacket.  "That's just because he knows how to play the system," he sneered at the man in question, who simply crossed his arms and smiled his most infuriating smile back.

"I know the administration in Atlanta, and while I wholly agree that they couldn't find evidence against a criminal if he walked up and handed it to them on a silver platter," Ezra grinned at the other man's words, remembering his tenure in said city and agreeing completely with the man, "in this instance they found nothing because there was nothing to find."  Thomas smiled at the dumbfounded look on the undercover operative's face at his words of support.  "Not everyone in the agency believes those rumors, son," he said softly.

"And everyone in the ATF knows that too, even if he is one huge pain-in-the-a** on a whole team full of jack-a***s," Mark Pauley smirked from the couch.

"Who're you calling a jack-a**, Pauley?" Buck spoke up good-naturedly, having quickly calmed back down.  "Shoot, that bunch of hyenas you call a team are so full of s**t that it takes us a case-load of air fresheners just to hold down the smell coming up from your offices!" 

Chris exchanged an amused glance with the sharpshooter, listening to the good-humored argument that broke out, watching in satisfaction as Lewis slunk to the background, his face bright red with embarrassment.  He allowed the argument to continue for a few minutes to give Ezra time to gain his composure back.  The poor man looked as though he could have been knocked over with a feather at the moment, and Chris grimaced. 

Hadn't anyone ever stood up for him before?

_Probably not, _he mused to himself, remembering the mess he had seen and read about concerning the charges in Atlanta. 

"Alright, get back to the topic at hand," he ordered sternly, effectively ending the discussion.  He walked back to the pool table and fixed the men present with a calculating stare.  "We have three locations and three teams.  The way I see it, we set up three simultaneous raids—at the warehouse, at the mansion, and at the company's offices.  We wait until Bartinol and Randolph are both present and looking over the goods before opening the party.  Once the bust gets going down at the warehouse, signals are sent to the other teams at the other locations."  Johnson cleared his throat, and Chris focused a piercing glare up at him.

The man raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not challenging your plans," he pointed out.  "As far as I'm concerned, you know the area, you know the criminals.  This is your case.  I'm just asking what kind of support are you thinking of having?"

Chris nodded once before turning back to the map laying on the table.  He put his finger on the location of the warehouse.  "The warehouse is going to be the largest operation.  Team seven, along with back-up from the state police and team eight," he looked up at the state trooper and team leader, who nodded their agreement, "will handle that.  A small force of FBI agents will launch the raid on the company offices, while team three and their back-up handle the mansion."

"What about the witnesses?" agent Thomas asked from the back in concern.  

"We'll leave a small force here for protection," Chris affirmed.

Johnson rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and nodded in approval.  "Looks good.  I can have at least a good two dozen trustworthy agents available to you by that morning, and more if you need them."

"And I can have as many troopers as you need on standby," Reed agreed.  "I'll give them the game plan that morning, to help with the security issue."

Chris looked up at the two team leaders.  "H**l, Chris, you know you got our help," Mark Pauley declared.  "Things've been entirely too quiet around here lately.  My boys are just itching for a good bust."

Ryan Kelly tapped his right index finger to his head in a lazy salute, indicating that he could count on team eight's help as well.

Chris nodded once before turning back to the map.  "Alright, boys, let's get the details hammered out.  I want no ****ups on this one."

"I just have one request before we get started, Mr. Larabee," Johnson spoke up, and everyone turned their attention to him.

"That would be…" Chris looked up at the man coolly, his whole demeanor indicating that he was in full alpha mode and would not be relinquishing command of this operation to anyone.

Johnson met his steely gaze with one of his own, his eyes hard as granite.  "I want another man to lead the FBI at the offices, not myself."

"And where do you plan on being?" Chris asked with a raised brow.

The man's features became cold and almost feral, his eyes glittering with calculating intent.  "I want to be there at the warehouse when Bartinol gets taken down.  I want to _personally_ put the cuffs on him, shove him into the nearest squad car, deliver him to the nearest prison, and throw away the key." He paused a moment, as though he needed to gather himself before making his next statement.  "I _owe_ it to Allen to finish this." 

Chris glanced at the others in the room before coming back to the man's gaze.  He understood all too well the need behind the request, the unspoken and barely acknowledged desire for justice and revenge.  

It was something that he lived with everyday.  

The faintest of smiles crossed his lips and he tilted his head slightly. "I think something can be arranged."

Johnson nodded once and turned back to the table with the others, intent on formulating the plans for the bust.

* * * * * * *

           Ezra bent over the pool table, carefully lining up his next shot.  "Six ball in the left side pocket," he muttered before expertly sending the cue ball across the table, banking it off the left side just shy of the corner pocket and off the back wall into the small huddle of brightly colored balls where it knocked the correct ball into the called pocket, a hair's breath behind the eight, which had been precariously balanced on the edge of said pocket.  The eight ball moved out of jeopardy as the cue ball lined itself up perfectly to send the seven into the corner pocket at his elbow. He circled the table to take his next shot.  

           "Nice one, Pard." 

He paused in mid-bend, looking up to see Vin standing in the kitchen doorway, holding three bottles.  Vin took a swig of one and offered another to the conman, who accepted it with a nod of thanks.  "Can I assume all is quiet on the western front?" Ezra asked before taking a drink himself.

"If you mean is there no sign of Randolph's men, then yeah, everything's fine."  Vin stepped into the dimly lit room and sat a hip on the corner of the table, handing the third bottle to JD who stood off to the side as Ezra knocked the seven ball into the pocket.  

"Who's on watch now?" JD asked, grimacing as Ezra sent two more balls to rest.

He had yet to have a turn in the game.

Vin shifted out of Ezra's way as he lined up another ball.  "Buck," Vin answered, shaking his head.

You'd have thought the kid would have learned by now not to play Ezra.

Though the judge and Johnson had provided men for surveillance all around the ranch, Chris had still made sure that at least one of his own men was on guard at all times as well.  When it came to the safety of his team, he trusted no one else to the job and had thus left the rotation that he had set up on Monday in place.  Vin had relieved JD that afternoon and had been patrolling the property quietly, looking for any sign of intruders and taking note of the positions and rotations of the other four guards.  He had returned to the main house right at dusk, entering through the kitchen and raiding the refrigerator before heading to the living room to find his other teammates.

 "Is that female detective still out there?" JD asked, watching as the cue ball barreled into the two, knocking it toward a corner pocket.  The two hit the edge of the pocket and careened off to the side, and he blinked for a moment in confusion.  He had seen Ezra make many much more difficult shots than that one in the past.  He eyed the conman suspiciously, wondering if he had missed the shot on purpose, but Ezra just looked back at him lazily, an expression of boredom on his face.

JD shrugged and leaned over the table to finally take his first shot of the game.  Maybe he would be able to make Ezra regret that mistake. He grimaced.  And maybe Buck would take a vow of chastity, Vin would take up karaoke, the cow would jump over the moon, and the sun would start orbiting the earth.

It wasn't going to happen.

Vin smirked, directing a raised eyebrow in the undercover agent's direction as he took another drink from the bottle in his hand.  _You going soft on us?_his expression seemed to say.

Ezra met his smile with a feigned look of innocence. _Hardly, Mr. Tanner._

"Yeah, she's still out there," Vin leaned back against the wall and finally answered JD's question.  "And yeah, Buck was makin' a beeline for her the last I saw him."

JD cursed under his breath as he missed his next shot.  "Buck just ain't gonna learn, is he? Agent Fox has done everything short of pointing her gun at him to make it plain she ain't interested," he said, shaking his head, partly because of the persistence of his roommate and partly because Ezra had just sunk the last three of his solid balls. 

There goes _that_ ten dollars.

Vin chuckled and crossed his arms, dangling his nearly empty bottle over his elbow as he watched Ezra round the table for his last shot.  "H**l, kid, Ol' Buck would probably just see that as some kind of foreplay."

"Yes, well, I do believe that our Mr. Wilmington has taken to heart the old maxim energy and persistence conquer all things­­­1.  Eight ball, right corner pocket," Ezra commented, pointing toward the ball with his cue stick.

JD groaned as the ball sunk home and Ezra straightened and set the bottom of his cue on the floor, holding the top loosely in hand with a smirk on face.  "I do believe that is a game, Mr. Dunne."

Vin shook his head, a wide grin on his own face as he watched JD reluctantly dig into his back pocket for his wallet.  "That's the last time I volunteer to play you a game," he grumbled.  "Next time, you can just stay bored."

Ezra neatly folded the bill that the young man handed him and tucked it into his shirt pocket.  "But Mr. Dunne, I am hardly to blame for your own lack of skill in regards to billiards."

JD just snorted as he put his cue stick back on the rack lining the wall.  Ezra turned to the tracker.  "Care for a game, Mr. Tanner?"

Vin shook his head no and finished off his beer.  He glanced toward the sofa and the figure slouched there in the shadows, lit only by the glow of the television, and his eyes narrowed.  "She been there all evening?" he asked quietly with a nod toward the couch.

Ezra put his own cue away and reached for his bottle as he followed the tracker's line of sight.  "I'm afraid so," he answered, a frown on his lips.  "She's been rather quiet all day, actually." A hint of concern colored his words.

When he thought about, he realized that Alex had become rather subdued the evening before, right after the arrival of Messieurs Johnson and Thomas.  While the rest of the group had been pounding out their plans for the arrests on Friday, the girl had remained in the background, making no comments or suggestions and taking no part in the activity around her.  She had become very reserved and guarded, tense.  After a while, she had left the room altogether, mumbling something about being tired and wanting to catch up on her sleep, but when he had finally been able to retire himself several hours later, he had noticed a light on under the door and had heard movement within the room she was staying in.  _Something's wrong,_ he realized.

"Yeah," JD agreed, leaning against the table beside them.  "And have you noticed how she's been avoiding Johnson and Thomas all day?  I mean, I thought she would have been happy to see them, them being close friends of her family and all, and not having seen them in six years."

Ezra caught Vin's eye and realized he felt it too.  Something wasn't right.  Vin glanced back at the girl.  "No one else is around," he said slowly.  "Chris and the others are still in town."

"You think she'd talk to us?" JD asked, understanding where Vin was leading.

Ezra set his empty bottle down on the edge of the cue cabinet.  "It wouldn't hurt to ask," he said, heading for the couch.

The room had darkened considerably as the evening shadows gave way to the dark of night, the only light available that coming from the light above the pool table and the television set.  Alex sat curled up in the corner of the large couch, her knees pulled up and her arms wrapped around them as she stared at the screen.  While she wasn't particularly interested in the movie playing, she had found nothing else to do.  

She looked up warily as Ezra sat down on the coffee table in front of her, a hint of concern on his face as he reached for the remote and turned the television off.  Vin glanced out the curtain window before settling against the fireplace mantel, while JD turned on a lamp and sat down on the opposite end of the couch.  "You finish your game?" she asked cautiously.

"Yes, we have.  Young Mr. Dunne here has become rather bored with billiards and had thought that we could find some other form of entertainment.  Perhaps you would like to join us?" Ezra inquired as he crossed one knee over the other and rested his folded hands on them.

Ally smiled softly and shook her head.  "No, thank you.  I'm a little tired tonight and just feel like lounging around a while."

Ezra frowned. "Are you feeling ill, my dear?"

"Oh, no, I'm alright," she quickly assured him.  "I just think the last couple late nights and early mornings are catching up with me."

"Yes, such hours can be quite taxing," Ezra agreed, shifting to make himself more comfortable.  "So we can assume that the arrival of Agents Johnson and Thomas have had nothing to do with your present apathy?" he asked nonchalantly as he brushed at an imaginary spot of lint on the sleeve of his shirt.

"Oh, of course not!  Whatever gave you that idea?" she laughed quietly, but Ezra caught the glimpse of fear and the slight widening of the eyes before she hid them behind a smile.

"I don't know, kid. Maybe it's the way you tense up whenever they're around, or maybe it's that look you got like a rabbit caught up in a brier bush with a hungry coyote nearby," Vin spoke up, his expression clearly saying he wasn't buying her claim. 

"What's wrong, Ally?" JD asked.

"Nothing's wrong!" she stated firmly, climbing to her feet.  "Really, I'm just tired."  

She moved to round the couch, but Ezra caught her arm, stopping her in mid-stride, and looked her directly in the eye. "We only want to help," he said quietly.

She studied his concerned features intently for a moment then glanced up to see the ones mirrored on the faces of Vin and JD.  "I told ya that if'n you ever needed help, I would be there for ya," Vin said softly.  JD nodded in agreement.

Ezra reached up and gently turned her face toward him. "You once trusted me with your life," he said quietly.  "Can you not trust me with this?"

She pulled out of his grasp and crossed the room to stand by the entertainment center with her back toward them, wrapping her arms around herself as though she were suddenly cold.  Silence filled the room, broken only by the quiet tic-tock of the grandfather clock in the hallway.  "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she finally answered, keeping her attention on the photos lining the shelves in front of her instead of turning to face them.  

The men looked at each other, confusion on their faces.  "Sure we will," JD answered her encouragingly.

She snorted and shook her head.  "No one else did," she said, a hint of bitterness coloring her words.

"Try us," Vin responded.

"What is it that we won't believe?" Ezra asked, standing to his feet.

Alex finally turned to face them, angering warring with despair in her stormy blue eyes.  "That it's my father's partner, Edward Thomas's fault that my parents died."

"What?" JD exclaimed.

She nodded.  "He betrayed us," she said.  "He sold us out to Bartinol."

1quoted by Benjamin Franklin

I know what you're thinking—what?  _Another_ plot twist?!  But I couldn't help myself! Besides, I couldn't let this become predictable, now could I?  **grins cheekily**


	16. A Traitor Revealed

Wow!  I'm on a roll—I've got two chapters posted this week!  Actually, I had hoped to finish it as this is my spring break, but life and certain professors who shall remain unmentioned deemed otherwise, and I wound up with a bunch of projects to get done.  I'm even avoiding one project to get this done—a book review that has to be written on a book I haven't read yet and don't have time to do so.  Oh well.  I'm good at BSing things—the fact that I've made it to my senior year in college is proof of that! : )  This is more important anyway, right?

_NOTE of WARNING_:  There's a lot of Ally in this chapter as well, but like before, it's to clear up the cliff hanger that I left on the last chapter.  Please don't shoot me!  It's still got a lot of Ezra and Vin and JD in it, as well, and isn't as in depth as the other chapter, I promise!  The next chapter will have a bit of her and Eddie in it too, but I promise that it's only for clerical purposes and that there's still plenty of the guys in it and following chapters!  Honest! So stick with me, please?  The climax is coming!

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 16 

           Ezra's eyes turned hard and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  "It makes sense," he said at last.  "If Bartinol had the network that your father claimed, he would not have been sure who to trust.  He would have cut his contacts down to a minimum, and thus his partner would have been the last person he trusted unless given a reason otherwise.  Though the severing of communication at the end would indicate that your father became suspicious.  Do you think he suspected Thomas?" he asked.

           Alex slumped back against the entertainment center and closed her eyes a moment, relieved that they were at least willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.  "I don't know," she sighed as she rubbed her forehead.  "He didn't say anything, and I think he would have warned Mom if he did.  After Eddie and Uncle Tim left that night, dad told mom about the disks and that he knew someone close to the top was leaking information to Bartinol, but he said he wasn't sure who.  He said he had cut all ties to everyone for safety's sake, so maybe he thought that the leak was using Eddie or Uncle Tim, but I don't believe he thought either of them were the actual problem."

           "So if your dad didn't suspect anything, what makes you think that Thomas was the leak?" JD questioned in confusion.

           Alex's eyes narrowed.  "I heard it from his own lips," she stated harshly.

           Vin sat down on the arm of the couch beside JD and gave her one of his penetrating looks.  "I think you'd better tell us the whole story," he said quietly.

           Alex sighed and crossed to the fireplace.  She sat down on the hearth and drew one knee up in front of her as she fingered the fire poker absently, gathering her thoughts. "I left one little detail out the other night," she started with another sigh.  "You see, dad kept a journal of his thoughts, his suspicions, his personal feelings.  He talked about everything in that book, from daily events he wanted to take note of to whatever case he was working on.  But no one knew about that journal except for mom and I think grandpa—not even his partners.  That night, before we left, he gave it to mom for safe keeping, told her that if something should happen to him, that she was to get it to Uncle Tim or Eddie, which is another reason I don't think he suspected his partner."

           "So what happened to it?"  JD asked.

           "When Dad barred us into that back bedroom and shoved me out the window, he gave it to me and told me the same thing—that if the worse should happen I was to get it to Uncle Tim."

           "But you didn't do that," Ezra observed, sitting down on the couch where she had been moments earlier.

           She pulled her hand back to her lap and leaned back against the stone with closed eyes.  "No," she said softly as she looked down at her fingers and picked at the frayed hem of her shirt.  "Not at first.  I didn't want to let go of the last link I had to my father.  I had nothing of home with me except that journal and this locket," she pulled a small gold chain from under the collar of her shirt.  "Of course, I was put straight into protective custody as soon as I got to DC, and wasn't allowed to go home.  So I kept the journal.  At night, when I couldn't sleep, I'd sneak it out and read it.  It made me feel close to him again, like he was there with me, you know?" her expression became wistful. 

           "What did you learn?" Ezra asked.

           She exhaled slowly.  "Plenty," she answered, looking back up at them with a somber expression.  "But most importantly, I found out where the back-ups were."

           Vin raised an eyebrow in surprise, a look that was mirrored on the faces of the other two men.  "I thought you said no one had found them."

           She smiled up at him wanly.   "It wasn't a complete lie.  You see, Eddie was on guard that night, and as soon as I read that part, I took the journal to him and showed it to him.  It was kind of funny really," she smirked.  "Dad hid those copies right under everyone's noses.  He had those disks in the files room of the Interpol building."

           "You're kidding," JD burst out in disbelief. 

           "Nope," she grinned.  "It was simple. He just snuck back into the building one night, put the disks in an old file that wasn't all that important, and then misfiled it somewhere else, noting where he put it in his journal.  Even if someone figured out where the copies were and what file he put them in, they would have had to have searched the entire archives to find it.  It was like trying to find a misplaced book in the library—you'd have better luck finding that needle in the haystack." 

"Hiding them right in plain sight," Ezra murmured in admiration.

"Well, like you said, sometimes that's the best place to hide," she agreed with a mischievous grin.  "Anyway," she picked up the narrative as the smile slipped from her face, "Eddie went that night, got the disks, and brought them back to the safe house.  He fed me some cock and bull story about how he didn't want to tip anyone off so he would wait and show them to Uncle Tim that morning and so on.  And I believed him—had no reason not to."

"So what changed your mind?" Vin asked.

Alex drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them as she stared at the floor in front of her.  "Like I said before," she answered with a shrug, "my Dad was a cautious man.  And this being the most important case of his career, he was even more cautious than usual.  According to the journal, he had a _third_ copy as well, stashed somewhere else.  The journal mentioned an envelope, but we didn't find anything.  That evening, I left Eddie downstairs in the study and went up to bed.  I needed something from my bag—I can't remember now just what it was I was looking for—but I couldn't find it so I dumped everything out of the bag onto the floor.  An envelope fell out with the rest of my things.  When I opened it, I found a letter and a key to a locker in a bus terminal in Roanoke, Virginia.  It must have come out when I stuffed the journal in there before.  When I realized what it was, I grabbed it up and raced downstairs to show it to Eddie.  But when I came to the study door, I heard him on the phone, so I waited outside.  He was talking to someone on the speaker phone while looking at the information on the disk."  As she told the story, the memories of that night came to her mind:

_She stood outside the partially open study door and peaked through the crack to see Eddie Thomas leaning back in the leather desk chair, fiddling with an ink pen as he scanned the screen.  "It's all here," he spoke out loud toward the phone. "Everything that you say was on the originals is here as well."  He spoke in a monotone, as though he had resigned himself to doing something he hated._

"Good.  Destroy them."_  Her heart dropped into her stomach and she had to muffle the involuntary gasp that came to her throat as she recognized the voice on the phone.  _No—it couldn't be!_ She thought frantically._

_But even as the words crossed her mind, she watched in horror as Eddie—her father's partner, his friend, and a man she thought she could trust— hit the delete key.  In seconds, all her father's work disappeared.  As the computer overwrote each disk, Eddie popped them out and physically tore them apart.  Finally, the fragments of all five diskettes were lying in a pile before him on the desk.  "It's done," he said heavily, leaning his elbows on either side of the pile and resting his head in his hands, running his fingers through his mussed hair.  Weary defeat radiated from him._

"Now, about the third copy that was mentioned in the journal,"_ the voice on the phone continued._

_"I don't know where they are.  The journal just mentions them—it doesn't say where the location is," Eddie said without looking up._

_"_That may be, but it did mention an envelope that was supposed to have been in the back.  Where is it?"__

_"I don't know. The journal was all that Ally brought me."_

"Then she must have it somewhere.  Get it.  I do not want any copies of those disks floating around, waiting to be stumbled upon."

_"I've already asked her about it.  She says she doesn't know what it was talking about, that the journal was all she had."_

"Then search her things, question her again, look for it.  I want those disks found!"

_"I'll ask her about it.  I can search her room, but she never lets that pack alone. I don't know if I can get to it. And I don't want to tip my hand to her.  She trusts me—I don't want to jeopardize that."_

"Then perhaps I should send one of my men to retrieve the envelope."

_Eddie looked up, at that, his eyes wide.  "No!" he said sharply.  "I-I'll take care of it.  Just leave her alone.  You've done enough to her.  She's just a kid—she can't hurt you!"_

_"As long as she knows the whereabouts of those disks, she is a danger to me, and I will not tolerate any threat to myself, no matter if it be man, woman, or child.  Do you understand me?"_

_"Yes sir.  I'll get the envelope.  Just please, leave her alone."_

"I expect results, Agent Thomas.  You've done good work for me up until now, keeping me informed of Sanders whereabouts, of what he had against me, of where he was going last week.  I would hate to have to eliminate you as a source.  Get them, or I will take care of matters myself."

_She heard the click of the phone going dead and watched Eddie sit back in his chair and rub his face.  She stumbled backwards, knowing that she couldn't let him know what she had just heard and that she had to hide the key, but as she turned, she tripped over a hump in the rug and fell to the floor with a loud thud.  She rolled over onto her knees and looked back toward the study door—and straight into the eyes of Thomas. Their eyes held for a moment, and his widen with shock as he realized that she knew. "Ally," he said softly, jumping up from his seat and rounding the desk to take a step toward her.  "It's not what you think—"_

_She scrambled to her feet and backed away.  "How could you?" she whispered.  "You were his partner, his friend! And you betrayed him to the enemy!  It's your fault they're dead!" her voice grew louder with each word until she was shouting._

_"Ally, you don't understand," Eddie said quickly, reaching for her shoulder, but she pushed him backwards.  He lost his balance and hit the floor painfully._

_"Don't touch me!" she hissed, turning to run down the hall.  "Leave me alone!"_

_"Ally!"__  Thomas shouted as he scrambled to an upright position, intent on heading her off._

_She reached the front door, terror racing through her as she fumbled with the lock, trying to get it open.  She could hear Eddie coming closer and closer…._

_The latch came undone with a click and she pulled the door open, glancing over her shoulder frantically as she rushed out the door—and crashed into a warm body.  A strangled scream escaped from her lips and she pulled back, but felt two hands grab her wrists.  She struggled to be let go, aiming a kick for a knee as she looked up into the man's face—and recognized her Uncle Tim.  Relief flooded her as she collapsed into his arms, sobs wracking her body as she tried to get air back into her lungs…._

"But that was good, wasn't it?  Or was Agent Johnson in on it as well?" JD interrupted.

She shook her head.  "No, he wasn't—at least, I don't think so.  I tried to tell him what I heard, what I saw, but of course Eddie denied everything.  He denied the telephone call, the disks, the journal, even the late-night trip to the offices.  We went back into the study, but the pile of disks was gone.  The journal was nowhere to be seen, and I had no proof that it had even existed.  Uncle Tim called security at the building and even had someone go in and check the file room, but there was no record of Eddie's being there, and the files that the journal referred to were just where they were supposed to be.  All the vehicles outside had cold engines. He even called the cab company to see if any of the drivers had a fair that evening with Eddie's description, but there was nothing.  It was just my word against Eddie's."

"And Johnson believe him," Vin said with a frown.

Alex nodded dispassionately.  "Yes.  At first, Uncle Tim was inclined to believe me, and launched a full investigation, but nothing was found that could even remotely connect Eddie to anything.  He was squeaky clean.  And then a week later, they found someone else in the director's office that clearly had ties to Bartinol and who confessed to everything.  Since Uncle Tim and Eddie both reported directly to the director, everyone figured that was where the leak was and the case against Eddie was quietly closed."

 "But how did this other guy know about the boathouse on Vancouver?" JD asked.

She sighed.  "The investigators found evidence that he knew one of the men dad was using as guards.  But that was ridiculous!  Those men that were waiting for us at the boathouse weren't feds, for one thing, and for another, dad was trusting them with the lives of his wife and daughter!  He was trusting them over his own partner and supervisor, both men who were some of his closest friends!  If dad was trusting them like that there is no way they would have given anything up to anyone like that!  Dad would have warned them about the leak!" she declared emphatically.

"We believe you," Ezra reassured her, holding up a hand in surrender.  "Tell us what occurred next."

Alex studied him for a moment then slumped back a little, almost as though she couldn't believe that they truly did believed her.  "Like I said, after the other guy was arrested, the case against Eddie was dropped.  They hadn't found anything after all, and as Uncle Tim tried to tell me, Dad had kept Eddie in the dark as much as himself.  And after I was forced to visit one of the company psychologists, everyone definitely just dismissed my claims." She snorted.  "How did he put it?  Oh yes.  His explanation was that I was suffering from paranoia brought on by the shock of watching my parents' murder, as well as the stress of the run through the woods and the whole case altogether.  According to him, that as a child, I couldn't cope with the issues that surrounded me and needed an object to focus my anger and grief on.  Because Eddie was my father's partner, I therefore expected him to protect my father, and was blaming him for their deaths out of my own guilt at not being able to stop it.  He also reminded everyone that I was suffering from very vivid nightmares at the time, ones that I was supposedly having trouble distinguishing from my real memories.  So his explanation for what I saw and heard in the study was that I had dreamed it.  And of course, Eddie latched onto that explanation and ran with it."  She gave a short, bitter laugh.

"And since you couldn't prove otherwise, everyone took his word for it, and ignored you," Vin finished for her, the disgust evident in his voice.

"What happened to the key?" Ezra asked, shaking his head.  He was angry at those who had dismissed the girl's claims as well, but he understood all too well how it happened.

"I kept it with me at all times, and managed to stay away from Eddie as much as possible.  Uncle Tim humored me when I begged him not to leave me alone with Eddie, especially when the psychologist said that it was probably the best idea for my mental health.  But the morning of the move to North Carolina, Eddie caught me alone and demanded the key."

_She packed slowly, preparing for the trip and for the new life she was about to face.  Finally, after zipping the bag closed, she sat down on the bed with a sigh and carefully pulled the locket out from under her shirt.  She fingered it reverently for a moment before flipping it open to reveal two tiny pictures—one of her grandparents when they were much younger, and the other of her parents.  Loneliness and grief overwhelmed her and she allowed the tears to silently trickle down her cheeks as she rubbed her thumb over the pictures._

_A sound at the door startled her and she savagely wiped at her eyes in attempt to hide the evidence that she had been crying. She looked up to greet the person but shrank back in sudden fear as Eddie quietly entered the room and shut the door.  She scrambled to the other side of the bed, trying to put as much distance between herself and him.  He turned to her, his hands held high.  "I'm not going to hurt you, Ally.  But we both know what I'm after."_

_"I-I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered._

_"Yes, you do.  I found the envelope, Ally.  It was buried in the garbage can in the kitchen.  I know you have the key." He advanced on her slowly._

_"No I don't!  I don't have any key!"  She pressed herself tightly into the corner._

_Thomas stopped in front of her.  "Yes, you do," he said soothingly.  "Ally, let me have it.  I'll destroy the disks, make Bartinol happy.  Once they're gone, he'll leave you alone.  You won't be a threat to him.  Everything will be alright then."_

_She shook her head fiercely.  "No it won't!  My parents will still be dead and he'll get away with it, be able to hurt other people!  My dad gave his life to see that Bartinol pays for what he's done.  I won't let that be in vain!"_

_"You don't understand who you're dealing with, Ally," he said sternly. "Bartinol has no qualms against murder.  You've seen that.  Those disks could send him to prison for a very long time, probably even get him the death penalty.  He can't afford to let them fall into the wrong hands, won't let that happen."_

_"Then give the disks to Uncle Tim!  Have him arrested!  End this!" she begged._

_He shook his head sadly. "I can't do that."_

_"Why not?"___

_"I just can't.  Give me the key, Ally. Let it end here."_

_"No!" she declared emphatically, trying to push by him.  _

_"Listen here, girl!" Eddie hissed sharply, grabbing her arm and jerking her around to face him as his patience finally ran thin.  He pinned her against the bed and squeezed her arms in a bruising grip.  "Bartinol will stop at nothing to have those disks destroyed, and he's willing to do whatever is necessary to do it!  He knows you have the key, Ally!  That makes you a threat, one that he is perfectly willing to eliminate!  Do you want to die?  Do you want him to go after your uncle, your grandfather?  Do you want to see them dead? Do you? Because that is what will happen if you keep being stubborn!"  He shook her in exasperation._

_"Let me go!" she cried, struggling to escape._

_"Then give me the key!"  
  
_

_"No!" she finally pulled free of his grasp and stumbled to the door and past a startled Tim Johnson._

"He was right, you know," she said softly as she rested her chin on her knees, a melancholy expression filling her features.  "If Bartinol had gotten to Eddie, then who knows who else he was paying off.  He probably knew exactly where the rest of my family was, and he would have been perfectly willing to use them to get to me.  I couldn't let that happen, so when Bartinol's men attacked, I ran."

"What happened to the key?" Ezra asked softly, pulling her attention from her memories and back to him.

She shrugged lightly.  "I don't have it anymore."

"Why not?"  JD asked, tilting his head in confusion.

"Because I turned it in at the bus terminal," she said as she looked up at them, her blue eyes darkening with purpose.

They all focused startled gazes on her, and Ezra drew in a sharp breath.  "Then you have—"

"The third copy," she finished for him with a nod.  "Yes, I do." She stood up and walked back over to the couch to where her bag was lying on the floor and knelt down, rummaged around inside.  She finally found what she was looking for and slowly pulled a small black case out of the depths.  Ezra reached to take it and she held on a moment, looking deeply into his eyes as though she was asking if she truly could trust him with this.  He held her gaze firmly in assurance, and she finally slowly let go and sat down on the coffee table.  "I headed for Virginia and the bus terminal from North Carolina.  Since the journal just mentioned the key and not what it was for or where it was to be used, neither Eddie nor Bartinol had any idea where to look."

"But Bartinol knows that you have the key, and probably the disks, then," JD pointed out as he jumped over the back of the couch and grabbed his laptop from the small table across the room.  He plopped back down beside Ezra and quickly powered the machine up.

Ezra handed the boy the first disk.  "Though you were the sole witness to the murders, killing you wouldn't have necessarily ended the threat, as the authorities had ample evidence concerning other crimes to ensure a conviction and imprisonment.  However, since said authorities had no cognition as to his whereabouts or base of operations, he really had nothing to fear."

"But those disks could lead them directly to him, and since you knew where they were, you became a serious problem for him," Vin picked up the thread as he rounded the couch to lean over the back, peering over JD's shoulder at the computer screen.

JD opened the first file on the disk and let out a low whistle as he scrolled through the information.  He quickly opened other files and other disks, perusing their contents as well.  "Wow," he finally uttered in awe.

Ezra shook his head slowly as he scanned the computer screen.  "Your father had truly done a remarkable job, my dear," he breathed.  "Names, dates, places, maps, account numbers—he has everything. It is no small wonder that Bartinol wanted this destroyed nor that he was willing to see it done himself!"  He sat back and looked at the girl, a hint of admiration in his eyes.  "With the information on this disk, not only would Bartinol be convicted twenty times over for a myriad of crimes ranging from smuggling black market goods to narcotics production and marketing to the sale of all sorts of illegal weaponry, he would also be implicated as the mind behind several high profile murders and as the supplier for several notorious terrorist groups.  And with the list of cohorts that your father has compiled, a number of government officials across the world would fall with him!"

"That, along with the lists of all his favorite hiding places, would see to it that there wouldn't be many places he could run," Vin observed.

"Yes.  And even with it being six years out of date, this evidence is still quite lethal for Mr. Bartinol," Ezra agreed.  "I can understand why he would want to ensure that it never came to light."

"What a minute, guys," JD spoke up suddenly, concern filling his features.  "Eddie knew that Ally was here, right?  What if he's contacted Bartinol?"

"S**t!" Vin pushed back from the couch as he realized the truth in JD's words.

"Indeed," Ezra murmured.  He stood up and began pacing in front of the television, rubbing at his mouth inadvertently as he furiously tried to think of a solution.  "That would mean that we are now on guard not only against Randolph but Bartinol as well."

"And Bartinol's a whole lot bigger shark than Randolph," Vin pointed out.

"Shark?  Bartinol's a d**n killer whale!" JD exclaimed as he followed Ezra's pacing with his eyes.  

Alex stood to her feet in a rush and ran a hand through her hair, resting it on the crown of her head in distraction.  "Then I'm not safe here, and I'm putting you in danger just by staying around," she whispered.  "I need to leave, now." She went to reach for her bag, but Ezra grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"Hold up a minute," he said quickly.  "I don't believe that Eddie has had a chance to contact Bartinol yet."

"But he's known where I'm at since yesterday!" Alex protested.

"Yes, but he hasn't been alone in all that time!  Think about it!" he said quickly as she shook her head in denial.  "Johnson didn't tell him what was going on until they were on the plane—he said that himself.  Josiah and Nathan met them at the airport and brought them here.  They stayed here last night and have been in the company of one of us throughout the day.  He hasn't been by himself more than ten minutes at any given time."

"That's plenty of time to make a phone call," Vin pointed out.

"Yes, but what happened this afternoon when Johnson had him contact an associate in Berlin?" Ezra asked excitedly.

JD looked up, his eyes wide.  "He had to borrow a phone!  His wouldn't work out here!"

"Exactly!  And he made that call here in the presence of everyone!"  Ezra gave the computer wizard a smile of approval.

Vin set a hip on the arm of the couch beside JD and crossed his arms.  "He could have swiped someone else's, or just made the call from one of Chris's phones.  It would have only taken a minute." he commented.

Ezra shook his head.  "No, I don't think so." He resumed his pacing.  "He wouldn't have risked using someone else's phone, because of the records that would have been kept there.   The same reasoning applies to the use of Mr. Larabee's phones as well.  And JD can always check for us to be absolutely sure. No, that's a simple rule you learn quickly while working undercover—when making contact with the team, either use your own device or a pay phone—never something that can implicate you later on, as you never know who could be listening in.  So, since his phone isn't working and there obviously isn't a payphone available in this area, unless he has been able to do so tonight, I think we can assume that he has not informed Mr. Bartinol of the present circumstances."  He stopped pacing and looked up at them, his eyes burning as a plan took form in his mind.  "With a modicum of luck, we should be able to apprise him of our proposal before he has had a chance to do so."

"What proposal is that?" Alex asked suspiciously. 

Ezra stopped in front of her and grinned widely, his gold tooth glinting in the faint lamp light.  "Why, the opportunity to obtain the disks in exchange for our safety and silence, provided that he remain silent as well concerning the operation on Friday, of course."

A slow grin came to Vin's face as he realized what Ezra was planning.  "JD, you think you can have something wired up by morning?"

"Sure, no problem.  I've got some equipment out in Buck's truck," he grinned back, understanding Ezra's idea as well. "Given a little more time, I can even get you a video feed."

"Perfect," Ezra directed his smile toward his teammates, his emerald eyes glinting in anticipation.  "You gentlemen begin laying the trap while I provide the bait to lure our prey into our hands.  Mr. Dunne, can you get me the number for his cell phone?  It should be working in the city."  He reached for the phone.

"Wait a second," Alex said, putting her hand on his and stopping him from lifting the receiver.  "If you're planning to use those disks to get Eddie here so you can get a taped confession of his involvement with Bartinol, I'm all for it.  But _I'll_ call him."  

"I don't believe that would be a good idea—" Ezra started, his features falling into a frown.

"Look.  He knows that I had the key and that I knew about the disks.  All I have to do is call him and agree to meet him here for an exchange.  If he knows that I told you guys, he's going to be suspicious of any kind of meeting at the least.  But if he thinks it's just me and that it's my idea, he'll fall for it."

Ezra shook his head stubbornly.  "That would require you meeting him alone.  I will not allow that.  It is too simple for something to go wrong."

"Nothing will go wrong," she said firmly.  "Eddie doesn't want to hurt me, and if I'm willing to just hand over the key or the disks, he'll let me go.  Like you said, without the disks, I'm not much of a threat to Bartinol.  Besides, you guys are going to be just out of sight to back me up."

"She's right, Pard," Vin spoke up.  "He's not going to go for it if he knows we're involved."

Ezra looked from one to the other before finally releasing the phone with a sigh. "Alright," he reluctantly agreed. "But when Mr. Larabee learns of our little covert operation and of her involvement, _you_ will take the heat." He pointed an accusing finger at the sharpshooter, who grinned back at him.

"Sure, Ez.  Whatever you say."

Alex shook her head in amusement before picking up the receiver.  "Now that that's settled, what's that cell phone number?"


	17. Trapping a Rat

Talk about being on a roll!  I've actually managed to get _3_ chapters up this week!  Woo-hoo!  Only 5 more to go.

Again, I'm sorry for the fact that this chapter has so much of my OC's in it.  It's got the guys in it too, but like I said before, I'm just trying to flesh out the story a bit, and I can't help but delve into Ally's background and thoughts.  I did warn you way back at the beginning of all this, though!  Matters of fact, take this as a warning for the rest of the story:  _there will be many scenes from here on out that involve my OC's, including my bad guys.But I promise that there's a_ _lot of Ezra too! _ Matters of fact, there's a whole lot of Ezra coming up real soon!  Things are going to get way hotter from here on out, and there's going to be tons more of our favorite conman and undercover agent, not to mention a bunch more Chris, Vin, and Buck too, besides my characters, so don't write me off yet, okay?

Hang onto your hats and secure your seatbelt, because I promise that this ride is going to get a whole lot wilder from here to the end!

And finally, again, your reviews are greatly appreciated and indeed much anticipated, so please, let me know what you think!

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CHAPTER 17 

           Eddie Thomas drove the rented SUV up the graveled driveway and parked outside the ranch house the next morning, looking around for the guard that he knew was just out of sight as he entered the house quietly.  Outwardly, he appeared nonchalant and casual, but inside, he was nervous and apprehensive.  As Ally had promised, no one else was around save the guards outside and the man that Larabee had left—wasn't it that kid, Dunne?  Yes, that was who Ally had said would be around.  

Good.  It would be easier to pass off a plausible excuse to him should he stumbled upon the exchange than it would be to any other members of team seven. 

The thought did little to sooth his nerves, though.

He again ran through the brief phone conversation in his head as he silently crept through the living room toward the hallway.

_He and Johnson had been sitting at the conference table in the FBI offices, going over the coming operation with the agents they were trusting to be involved in the upcoming arrests.  He wasn't paying very close attention; instead he was contemplating a good excuse that could take him back out to the ground floor and the bank of payphones there, or at the very least, somewhere secluded so he could make the call that he had been dreading to make ever since Tim had told him where they were going and why._

_He didn't want to contact Bartinol, had been avoiding it, but knew he couldn't put it off too much longer.  While he hadn't had much contact with the man since the demise of Sanders and Alex's disappearance, Bartinol had made it clear that if she should ever show back up, that he was to be notified immediately.  But Eddie had been waiting until the last possible second because while he knew he couldn't let Bartinol be swept up in the sting, he wanted to see Larabee's team get __Randolph__.  That way at least some justice would be carried out._

_He ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how his life had become such a mess.  Just as Tim looked at him to clarify a point, his cell phone rang.  He answered it and was surprised to hear Alex's voice on the line, telling him that she was willing to exchange the disks.  With everyone's eyes focused on him, he knew he couldn't finish the call here, and told her he would call her back in five minutes.  She had agreed and given him her number. He hung up and told the others with a grin that it had been his girlfriend and that he was going to skip out for a few moments to complete the call in private.  Johnson just rolled his eyes and smirked but nodded, giving him permission to leave.  One of the local feds offered to let him use his office if he wanted to keep it private and he had quickly headed for that room to make his call.  Alex picked up on the first ring._

"Eddie?"_ she asked._

_"Yes, it's me.  Now what's this about being willing to exchange the disks?" he demanded, getting down to business._

"Just what I said.  I have the disks, and I'm willing to give them to you."

_"You have the _disks_?!"_

"Yes, I have the disks.  The key was for a locker in a bus station in Virginia.  There was a letter with the key, explaining the location.  After I left North Carolina, I went to Roanoke and got the disks.  I wanted to keep them safe, but now I'm willing to hand them over." 

_"Why?  You were pretty adamant against that the last time we discussed this," he pointed out suspiciously._

"Then, I was a kid and had just been through an emotional hell.  I was scared and wasn't thinking clearly,"_ she answered._

_"Why now?  What happened to the desire for justice and all that?"_

"Like I said, I'm no longer that naive, thirteen year-old kid.  Now, I'm older, wiser and have spent the last six years living on the streets.  It's not easy, Eddie, and I don't want to live like that anymore.  I'm tired of it all.  I want to have a normal life again.  I want to be able to sleep at night without being afraid of monsters in the dark.  I want to go to college, get a job, do something with my life.  I can't do that if things stay the way they are now."

_"No, you can't," he mused.  "I'm glad you've come to your senses; I'm just sorry it took this to do it."_

"Yeah, me too,"_ she agreed.  _"Look.  You told me before that if Bartinol had the disks, then he would leave me alone, that I wouldn't be a threat to him any longer.  Do you think that's still true?"__

_He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  "Yes, yes.  With the evidence no longer a danger, you couldn't hurt him.  Bartinol's a businessman first and foremost, and he didn't have anything personal against you.  I'm sure he'd let you alone."_

"Okay.  I'll meet you here tomorrow morning, say nine o'clock?"

_"Why not give them to me tonight?" he asked._

"No, there will be too many people around tonight.  We're better off waiting until tomorrow morning when most of them will be gone."

_I don't like meeting there," he disagreed._

"I know, but I can't exactly slip away, now can I?" _she pointed out sarcastically.  _"Besides, like I said, Larabee and his team will be gone by then, except for the one he'll leave on guard, and I think that's the kid.  And you shouldn't have any trouble getting past him or the guards outside.  You're a member of the case team.  Just tell them you wanted to check up on me, or that you came after some papers or something.  You're a smart man—I'm sure you can think of something."

_"Alright, the guards outside aren't a problem; they know me now and know that I'm working the case.  The kid shouldn't be too hard to get by, either, but what about Standish?  He's not going to be fooled easily."_

"Standish doesn't get out of bed before noon unless he has to.  Get here early enough, and you won't have any problems from him."

_He hesitated for a moment, thinking it over, before finally agreeing. "Alright.  I'll be back out there at nine the next morning.  Where will I find you?"_

"If you follow the hallway past the back bedrooms all the way to the end, you'll come to a closed door.  It leads to a family room.  Larabee keeps that room closed off, and no one goes back there, so we should be able to do this without interruption."

_"Alright," he repeated.  "The family room at Larabee's ranch tomorrow at nine.  I'll see you there.  And Ally?  You're doing the right thing," he said softly._

_There was a brief pause for a minute before he heard her mutter, _"I hope so."_  She then hung up the phone._

He heard a sound in the kitchen and stopped, silently peaking through the doorway to see the kid with his back to the door, making a sandwich.  Ear phones covered his ears, and he was bobbing his head in time with what Eddie guessed to be some kind of rock song.  JD was completely oblivious to everything going on behind him, and Eddie quietly slipped on into the hallway.

He stopped at the first closed door on the right and gently opened it, peering through the dim light at the twin beds across the room.  A large lump could be seen on the bed to the right and auburn hair peaked out from under the comforter.  Eddie could hear quiet snoring coming from the form, and he watched it rise and fall slowly with each breath.  Satisfied that the man in the bed was indeed asleep, he eased the door closed and padded on down the hallway, shaking his head.

A kid that was supposed to be on guard but wasn't paying a bit of attention to what was going on around him.  A undercover agent who could sleep like the dead.  If those two, along with the rest of the cracked pots on team seven, were supposed to be some of the best agents this side of the Mississippi, then the west was in sad shape.

* * * * * * *

           JD continued making his sandwich, pausing only when he saw Eddie's reflection in the toaster disappear as the man entered the hallway.  He had headed for the kitchen as soon as Vin had given the word over the radio that Eddie was coming up the driveway and had quickly busied himself, listening on his headset to the occasional rustle as one of the others tried to get more comfortable.

           As soon as Eddie disappeared from view, he fingered the mike button on the receiver at his waist and slipped out the back door.  "The fox is in the henhouse, and he's headed your way, Ez." He whispered, taking up his position at the end of the deck.

           He muffled a small chuckle as he picked up the soft snores that started immediately after his warning, and checked the video and audio feeds coming from inside once more.  

It was just about show time.

* * * * * * *

           As soon as he heard JD's warning, Ezra pulled the comforter up over his head, leaving a slight crack between the blanket and the pillow so that he could clearly see the door.  He grimaced as the ear piece was pressed further into his ear by being caught between his head and the pillow, but he ignored it, concentrating instead on keeping his breathing even as he watched the door open slowly.

           When Eddie left, he waited a few seconds before climbing out of the bed and quietly padding to the door, easing it open ever so slightly to make sure the man was out of sight.  As soon as Alex's voice came over the earpiece, he slipped out into the hall, intent on being in a location where he could quickly get into the room should something go wrong.

* * * * * * *

           Right after he saw Eddie enter the house, Vin left his surveillance position from the hayloft and slipped through the corral beside the barn, making sure to remain concealed from the house itself.  He crossed the yard and turned the corner of the addition that housed the family room, coming to a quiet stop behind the team leader.  Larabee glanced up and acknowledged his presence before turning his attention back to the conversation coming over the radio.

* * * * * * *

           Chris shifted a bit, trying to ease the ache in his knees as he crouched down beside the house right at the deck steps, his gun in hand.  Agent Johnson squatted beside him, his face set in a hard expression as he cupped a hand to his ear to better hear the conversation coming from inside the room.

           Chris could easily make out the betrayal mingled with grief and anger in the older man's eyes, and he sympathized, imagining how it would feel to find that not only had one of your closest friends been lying to you over the years and collaborating with the enemy, he had knowingly fed information to said enemy that resulted in the death of _another_ close friend.

           It must be pure hell.

           To say that he hadn't been pleased when the quartet had told him their plans early that morning was definitely the understatement of the year, but by then it had been too late to call it off without jeopardizing the entire case, and he had been forced to go along with it.  At least they had seen fit to tell him _before_ it began, instead of waiting until after they had Thomas handcuffed to the corral fence.

           That could be considered progress, he supposed.

           And after he heard the rest of Alex's story and the details of their plan, he had to grudgingly admit it was a good one.  Johnson had protested until JD played the tape of the phone conversation.  Any doubts that Thomas wasn't involved with the other side were vanquished after that.  The older man had just sat back in stunned silence for a moment before turning to the girl and apologizing profusely, a combination of sadness and regret flooding his voice.  It had definitely come as a shock to the older man.

           JD had shown them the disks as well, and Chris couldn't believe the depth and detail of the evidence on them.  Allen Sanders had been one h**l of an agent, and even though he hadn't known the man, Chris could feel anger welling up in his heart at his death.  There were few good men left in this world, and even fewer good agents, and the loss of one of that caliber was indeed a blow to the whole law enforcement community.  He could still feel the fury that had swept through him when he heard the evidence of Agent Thomas's betrayal.  As far as he was concerned, that put the man on a scale lower than that of the murderer himself.  Dirty cops were the lowest of the low, but one that knowingly sold out his own partner, his _friend_—_that_ one didn't even deserve to be called human.  Chris silently vowed to himself that he would personally see to it that the man, his wife, and his daughter received justice, starting with the agent that had betrayed them.

           He would make sure that particular roach rotted in the darkest cell he could find.

* * * * * * *

           Buck hunkered down on the towel in the bathtub behind the shower curtain and watched in the mirror as Eddie slinked past the doorway with barely a glance into the room before turning the knob and slipping into the appointed room.  While Buck had a clear view of the double agent in the mirror, because he was crouched down below the mirror's level, Eddie couldn't see him.

           As soon as he heard the family room door close, he slipped out of his hiding spot, thankful that he had the foresight to lay the towel down to muffled the sound.  Gun in hand, he crept to the door where he nodded silently to Ezra as he came up the hall and positioned himself just outside the door.

           Buck too had been furious when shown the tape of Thomas's betrayal, and he had readily agreed to the plan that the others had come up with to bring Thomas down.  He thought back to the weariness and pain in Alex's eyes, the hell she must have gone through over the years, and his face hardened as he gripped his gun a little tighter.  He would make sure that the men who had been responsible for the girl's suffering paid for their crimes.

           No one hurt a woman and got away with it, not if Buck Wilmington was around.

           The man would pay, and pay dearly.

* * * * * * *

           Alex looked up from her seat on the piano stool as Thomas entered the room and her heart beat a little faster.  Even though she knew that Ezra and Buck were right outside the door, that Chris, Vin, Johnson, and JD were just out of sight around the corner of the deck, and that Nathan and Josiah were even now positioning themselves under the window to cut off any avenue of escape, she couldn't help but feel a bit nervous.  She could hardly believe that after all these years, it was finally coming to an end, that soon, Bartinol would be in custody and she would be free.  It was hard to take in.

           But first, they had to bring down Agent Thomas.

           She fingered the floppy disks in her pocket absently as she composed herself.  Before giving her the disks for the sting, JD had burned two copies onto CD, ensuring that if something should happen to the originals, her father's work would still live on.

           She took a deep breath, put a neutral expression on her face, and stood to her feet to face the man.  It was time to end this.

           Eddie glanced out the window and the French doors leading to the deck before turning toward her, his face showing his conflict and relief.  "You have them?" he asked expectantly.

           She nodded.  "I do.  But I have one question before I give them to you."

           Eddie again glanced out the doors while running a hand through his hair, looking as though he were going to protest.  "And that would be?" he asked impatiently.

           "How did you know?" she questioned softly.  "How did you know about Seattle, Vancouver, the yacht?  How did you know what dad was planning on doing?"

           Eddie rubbed his forehead nervously, debating on telling her or not.  Alex saw his hesitation and quickly pressed her point.  "Come on Eddie, you at least owe me an explanation.  It's not like I can use it against you.  You proved that six years ago."

           He studied her for a moment then nodded, taking a seat on the arm of the overstuffed armchair sitting beside the door.  "At first, your dad was just a minor annoyance to Bartinol, like a fly or something.  He managed to get in a blow or two, but nothing that worried Bartinol too much.  But Allen was good at his job, and he was determined to bring Bartinol down.  He kept digging, kept worrying the situation, kept working at it, and his persistence paid off.  Soon, he began getting breaks, taking down large chunks of Bartinol's cartel and getting close to the man himself.  And that's when Bartinol realized he would have to do something about him.  He tried buying Allen off at one time," he snorted.  "I'm sure you know how that went.  When Bartinol realized that Allen wasn't going to bend, he began trying other deterrents.  And that's when he approached me with an offer I couldn't refuse.  There in the beginning, your dad talked the case over with us, kept us informed of his movements, but the closer he got to Bartinol and the more he learned about the man, the more he kept to himself.  It was my job to pass information along to Bartinol, but I can tell you that got harder and harder to do.  Many of the busts your dad organized, I knew nothing about until after they occurred."

           He stood up and walked to the French doors, gazing out into the gloom of the overcast day.  "They kept squaring off, your dad and Bartinol.  At one point, Bartinol even sent a hired assassin after your dad.  The man almost succeeded.  Remember when your dad was shot?"  Alex nodded, remembering the nightmarish week the September before her parents' death, when her mother had received the call telling them her dad was in a DC hospital with a bullet in his chest.  Though her father had recovered quickly and no one had given her the details of what had happened, she knew she had come close to losing him then.

Eddie glanced back at her for a moment.  "That was courtesy of Bartinol.  But your dad didn't let up.  He kept digging, kept hacking away at the man's empire.  Then came the day Allen disappeared.  He called me and Tim, telling us that he had finally had a break to some inside information that would bring Bartinol down once and for all and that he would contact us as soon as he got it."  He sighed.  "He was gone for two months.  We didn't hear from him again until the night before Seattle.  I warned Bartinol, of course.  The man was furious, demanding that I find out what Allen had, do something to stop him, but what could I do?  I didn't have a clue where he was."

"So how did you find out his plans?" she asked in confusion.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and chuckled bitterly.  "I got d**n lucky.  Your dad and I had worked a case a few years earlier involving a man and his sister in Italy.  They weren't exactly on the straight and narrow mind you, but they were good hearted people.  They helped us out of a jam and got us info on the case, and we let them be.  We all got to be good friends, and me and Caroline, the sister—well let's just say we were a little closer than that.  I was finishing up an Interpol assignment in Athens when I ran across her.  During the course of the conversation, I found out your dad had been in contact with her and her brother not three days earlier, asking for a favor.  Of course, it was easy getting her to cave in, even though your dad had asked her to keep quiet.  All I had to do was put on a little show about being worried about my friend being alone on this without backup, and she told me everything she knew.  I traced the brother to Vancouver and after doing a little digging, found out about the yacht.  When you dad finally contacted us two days after that, I put two and two together and figured out what was going on."

Alex's eyes narrowed.  "And you passed what you knew along to Bartinol."

He averted his gaze from her glare and nodded sadly.  "Yes."

"So you were responsible for the death of not just my dad and mom, but another man that you called friend as well." Alex shook her head in disbelief, finding it hard to reconcile this Eddie with the man she had remembered from her childhood, hard to believe that he could be so callous, so uncaring.  She fingered the cover on the piano absently as she tried to gather her composure before asking her next question.  "What about the guy they found and blamed for the leak?" she asked quietly without looking at him.

"He _was_ a leak for Bartinol, but he didn't know about me.  When Bartinol found out about the investigation into me, he set the other guy up to take the fall.  Even made it look like he knew one of the guards your dad was using, and since those men were dead, no one was around who could prove otherwise.  That neat little trick also got Caroline off my trail as well," Eddie commented as he leaned back against the door frame and ran a hand down his face.  "Bartinol definitely did a good job of cleaning up that mess," he sighed.  

Silence filled the room for a moment before Alex finally voiced the one question that had been haunting her thoughts for the last six years.  "Why, Eddie?" she almost whispered as she finally looked up at him with a piercing gaze filled with grief, anger, and complete bewilderment.  "Why did you betray your partner, your friend to what you _knew_ would be his death?"

Eddie shied from her accusing stare and turned to look out the doors as he rubbed his eyes, his posture one of defeat.  He ducked his head and squeezed his eyes closed for a moment before finally giving her an answer. "For Lindsey," he sighed.  "I did it for Lindsey".

"Your daughter?" Alex asked in confusion.

He nodded sadly.  "Yes.  She lives with my ex in Texas.  You didn't know her, but she was the light of my world then."  He smiled fondly as a picture of a carefree little redhead with brown eyes, freckles, and a bright grin that she reserved especially for her daddy flashed across his mind's eye, but the smile quickly faded away as he remembered the events that he was now recounting.  "It tore me up when my ex-wife got sole custody of her.  I got to visit once in a while, but it was hard." He looked down at his hands.  "Nine years ago, when she was fifteen, she became deathly ill. We found out she had a bad heart.  She needed an immediate transplant, or she wasn't going to make it.  But she was so far down on the waiting list and time was running out.  We did everything we could, but it didn't help.  Finally, just when I was at my wit's end, Bartinol approached me.  He said he could get me a donor, if I would be willing to get him some information.  A simple trade, he said."  He turned to her, his expression fierce.  "Lindsey was my life, my joy.  Without her, I had no reason for living.  I would do anything, _anything_ for her." He closed his eyes and let out a breath of air in a long, slow sigh as he leaned his head back against the door frame. "Even sell my soul to the devil," he whispered miserably.

"And that's what you did," Alex said softly.

"Yes," he nodded slowly and looked her straight in the eye resolutely.  "It came down to my daughter or my partner.  There was no decision."

"You could have told dad or Uncle Tim.  You could have done something else!" she countered as she stood to her feet and crossed the room to face him.

"There was nothing they could do!" he disagreed fiercely.  "My daughter was dying, and Bartinol was the only one who could save her.  I'm sorry, Ally, but I had no choice."

Alex turned from him and hugged herself tightly, trying to get control of her anger and regret.  "Did she make it?" she asked finally, keeping her back to him.

A ghost of a smile flitted across his features.  "Yes," he answered fondly.  "She graduated college last year and is working in an elementary school in Dallas."  The smile disappeared as the clock in the hallway chimed the half-hour, and he glanced at his watch.  "We're taking too much time.  I answered your questions; now hold up your end of the bargain.  Give me the disks."  He walked up to her and held out his hand expectantly.

She licked her lips, hesitating, but finally reached into her pocket and pulled out the small case, staring at it for a moment before slowly handing it to him.  He flipped it open and rifled through the disks, nodding as he recognized the handwriting on the labels.  He snapped the lid closed and slipped the case into the inside pocket of his coat.  "I'll check these and then call Bartinol in the morning, right before the bust," he said as he crossed to the hallway door.  "That should give him enough time to escape without tipping off Randolph."

"Or you could just let the bust go on and capture Bartinol as well," Alex pointed out softly.  "You cold let it end here and now, Eddie.  You could turn the disks over to Uncle Tim and Mr. Larabee, tell them what you know.  Work with them and bring Bartinol down once and for all!"

Eddie paused with his hand on the door handle, his head hanging low.  He glanced back at her and smiled wearily, shaking his head at her words.  "It's too late for that." he whispered sadly.

"No, it's not!" she insisted as she crossed to him and laid a hand on his arm.  "Please, Eddie," she pleaded.  "If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for Lindsey."

He turned back to the door, his back to her, and shook off her hand.  "That's exactly who I'm doing it for," he declared.  "I'm sorry, Ally."

"And I'm sorry as well."  

Eddie spun around, recognizing the voice of his friend, to find Chris Larabee and Timothy Johnson standing just inside the French doors.  "It's over, Thomas," Chris said simply, pointing his gun at the man.  "Give it up."

Eddie's eyes widened in fear and he jerked the door open, only to run headlong into the tall form of Buck Wilmington.  Buck shoved him back into the room before spinning him around and slapping a pair of handcuffs on him.  "Like the man said," he declared harshly, "It's over."

Eddie struggled for a moment, pulling out of Buck's grasp and stumbling further into the room.  "You can't prove anything!" he shouted, backing up against the cloth-covered piano.  "It's your word against mine.  The disks are fine!  Ally was just giving them to me for safe keeping!  You have nothing on me!"

_ … It was my job to pass information along to Bartinol, but I can tell you that got harder and harder to do…  _

Eddie looked over at the French doors, his eyes wide at hearing his own words played back at him.  He spun around to see JD enter the room from outside, a small recorder in his hand.  "I'm afraid we do have something on you, Agent Thomas." JD said as he flipped the machine off.

Eddie slumped in resignation as the rest of Larabee's team entered the room.  He looked up to see his friend standing in front of him, anger and bitterness roaring in his eyes.  Johnson didn't say a word; instead, he simply reached into Eddie's pocket and withdrew the case.  He handed it to Chris before turning to the man he once called friend.  Their eyes locked and held for a moment before Johnson turned away in regret, motioning for the two FBI agents standing to the side.  "Get him out of here," he commanded.

 Eddie allowed them to lead him to the door, pausing only when he passed Alex.  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye before facing forward and bowing his head.  "I'm sorry, Ally," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry too, Eddie," she whispered back sadly as she slid her hands into her jacket pockets.

Ezra came over and stood beside the girl as they watched the man being led from the room.  He didn't touch her, but offered his comfort by his presence.  "So what happens now?" Alex asked softly, finally tearing her gaze from the door where Eddie had disappeared.

Chris turned to her, his eyes full of promise and retribution.  "Now we take Bartinol and Randolph down."

* * * * * * *

An incessant buzzing woke Chris from the depths of slumber, and he rolled over on the bed, fumbling for the lamp groggily, trying to figure out where he was and what was going on.  

After Eddie's arrest, he and the others, along with the FBI agents, other ATF teams, and state police also involved in the case, had worked tirelessly, hammering out the final details of the bust, trying to predict anything that could possibly go wrong and head off anything that would lead to failure.  Surveillance at the airport had called in around eight that evening to let them know that Bartinol had indeed arrived and had been escorted to the Randolph mansion.  Finally, around 1 a.m. on Friday, Chris had declared it a night and sent all the others home to try and get some rest before six-thirty that morning, when they would reassemble to put their plans in motion for the show down planned for eight.  The members of team seven had all opted to stay over at the ranch house that night and were even now scattered about throughout the house, trying to catch a few precious moments of sleep on any available surface they could find.  Chris himself had collapsed fully-clothed into his own bed at two after Nathan had chased him from the living room and the warehouse drawings. Thankfully, he fell asleep not too long afterwards, despite the weight on his mind.

           Chris finally got the lamp on and blinked his eyes as he grabbed his watch off of the nightstand—and blinked again when he realized that it was 5 am, and that the buzzing was his cell phone.  "What the h**l?" he grumbled, reaching for the infuriating device.  "Larabee," he growled into the receiver.  

Ten seconds later, he was scrambling off the bed, reaching for his boots as he stormed down the hall, cell phone cradled to his head.  He pounded on the doors of the two bedrooms further down as he passed them and nudged the sleeping bags in the living room floor none-too gently as he flipped the lights on.  "When?" he barked into the phone.  "How?"

Vin was instantly awake and out of his bag, watching as Chris paced in front of the fire place in agitation.  He quickly pulled on his boots and nudged the covered lump that was JD beside him.  "Come on kid," he whispered.  "Something's up."

           Buck sat up from his spot on the couch and rubbed his face, a huge yawn splitting his features.  "What's going on?" he asked no one in particular.

           The rest of the house's occupants stumbled out of the hall in rumpled clothing, blinking sleepily in the bright light.  "Someone had better have a good reason for arousing me from my slumber a good," Ezra glanced at the clock on the wall, "hour before the appointed time," he growled, absently patting his hair into place.

           "I believe Brother Chris is about to explain," Josiah motioned for the man's silence, nodding toward the team leader.

           "D**n-it!" Chris cursed as he viciously slammed the tiny phone onto the stone hearth, shattering the small device into several pieces.  He leaned against the mantle and squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing at his forehead wearily.

           "What happened?" Nathan asked, dreading the answer.

           Whatever it was, it wasn't good.

           Chris turned to face his men, anger radiating from his very pores.  He kicked at the end table near his leg.  "That was Johnson," he said in disgust.  "Thomas has escaped."


	18. A Change in Plans

Since it's my birthday today, I thought I'd celebrate by giving _you _guys the present—the next chapter!  Hopefully, updates will come quickly from here on out, as I've finally gotten to my favorite part of the story, but we'll see how school goes, first.  Anyway, enjoy this, and like always, I'd love to hear what you think (in other words—please, please, _please_ review!)

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CHAPTER 18 

           "Awe, s**t!" Buck exclaimed as he sat back against the couch cushions and ran a weary hand down his face.

           "'S**t' is right," Josiah agreed.  He turned back to Chris.  "Is he headed for Bartinol?"

           "I don't know," Chris sighed.  "But we'll have to work under the assumption that he will. And he has a thirty minute head start on us. Johnson is assembling his men right now.  Josiah, get on the phone to Kelly.  Tell him what happened and that there's been a change in plans.  Have him and his boys meet us at the mansion.  Nathan, get a-hold of Pauley, send him and his team to the warehouse.  JD, call Reed, have him get the nearest troopers headed for that warehouse now.  Tell them that I want them at their respective places as of yesterday!  If we're lucky, maybe we can salvage this bust before it all goes completely to h**l.  Now let's get moving!" he barked.

           He turned to the sharpshooter.  "Vin, give a heads up to the guards outside.  Let them know what's going on and have them act accordingly."

           Vin nodded and disappeared out into the night.  The others scrambled around, quickly getting dressed and assembling their weapons, and within minutes were heading out the door. Chris paused when he saw Ezra grabbing his jacket and revolver.  "You're staying here, Ez," he stated firmly.

           "The h**l I am!" the Ezra argued back, anger flashing in his eyes, turning them to deep forest green.  "I am the one with the most invested in this case, and I will see it through to its conclusion!"

           Chris stood rigidly and favored his agent with a glare that clearly left no room for question.  "I realize that," he said in a tightly controlled tone of voice.  "But I am not taking a chance on you getting your fool head blown off by some lucky shot. There's too big a risk that you'll get separated from us in the confusion.  You're staying here and that's final."  He turned to his long-time friend.  "Buck, stay here with him.  Make sure he stays put."

           Buck tipped his head in agreement and stepped back into the room, holding the front door open for the others.  

Ezra met his glare with an icy stare of his own for a moment before finally averting his eyes and nodding, indicating his compliance.  He didn't like it, but he would abide by his leader's orders.

           For now.

           "That's going to be spreading your forces mighty thin, brother," Josiah pointed out, snapping a full clip into his gun and sliding it into his shoulder holster.

           "It can't be helped," Chris shook his head as he pulled on his duster and headed for the door.  "If Bartinol and Randolph manage to escape the net, they'll more than likely head for the nearest border, but I'm not going to gamble on it, and I'm not leaving the safety of one of _my_ men in the hands of the feds outside alone, no matter how good they are," he declared with a hand on the door knob and a quick glance toward Ezra.  He nodded at his long-time friend. "I want Buck here as the last line of defense in case the unlikely does happen.  As for being short-handed, Kelly's boys will be there to back us up." A quick smirk crossed his lips.  "They might not be as good as Buck and Ezra, but they'll do in a pinch."

           Buck laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.  "And you be sure to tell them that, Hoss."

           Chris's only reply was a quick, devilish grin before he pushed out the door into the night and headed for the Ram.

* * * * * * *

           Paul Randolph awoke quickly to a pounding on his bedroom door.  He glanced at the clock on the nightstand and cursed under his breath.  5:15 a.m.—whoever this was, they had better have a good explanation.  His wife mumbled something in her sleep and rolled over, but he paid her no mind as he slipped out of bed and headed for the door, the small pearl-handled revolver from the drawer of the nightstand clutched firmly in his hand.  He pulled the door open and stepped out into the hall to come face-to-face with Tony Vitalis.  "What is it?" he growled as he quietly closed the door.

           Vitalis danced around a bit, knowing that his employer was not going to like what he was about to say.  "The feds are onto us," he reluctantly explained.

           "What!" Randolph roared, fury flooding his senses.  A voice from behind him answered his question.

           "I just received a call from an informant of mine warning that we are about to be visited by the local federal agents, led by a Mr. Christopher Larabee."  Randolph turned to face the man who had stepped from the shadows.  The distinguishing gray streaks in the  man's dark hair flashed in the overhead light and his cold, obsidian eyes glittered with intelligence and authority, making it clear that he was not a man to trifle with.  "It seems we have a common enemy, Mr. Randolph," he commented casually.

           "Larabee?" Randolph spun around to face his right-hand man, his expression dark with his anger.  He slowly advanced, his body tense but controlled, his voice menacingly cool and contained as he backed Vitalis against the wall.  "If Larabee is on his way here, that means Standish must have made contact with him, something you assured me you would not allow to occur.  You've obviously failed, Tony, and quite miserably."  He firmly pressed the barrel of the small, lethal weapon against Vitalis's chest right above his heart and stared into the man's eyes with icy determination and barely controlled fury.  "Care to explain how you allowed this to happen before I end your miserable existence?"

           "I'm afraid an explanation will have to wait until later, if you would prefer to avoid a rather lengthy prison term," his house guest interrupted with a cough.  "We must leave now.  I have men working to neutralize the surveillance and to provide us a window of escape.  I suggest we utilize the opportunity, gentlemen."

           Randolph paused a moment, his hard gazed boring a hole into Vitalis's soul before he finally lifted the small gun and released the trigger.  "You are quite right, Mr. Bartinol," he agreed without turning around.  "We will finish this discussion later, Tony.  Go prepare transportation, and quickly, man!"  Randolph backed up and turned to enter the bedroom as Tony rushed down the hall, pulling a cell phone from his pocket as he went.  He looked back at the crime lord.  "I apologize, Mr. Bartinol.  This is indeed unforeseen and unfortunate.  I promise you however, that it will be dealt with efficiently and expediently, and I will personally see to it that none of this matter reflects onto you in anyway."

           Bartinol focused a piercing stare on the other man, his slightly accented voice deceptively calm.  "Yes, it is unfortunate, but it should not have been unforeseen.  I would have expected a man of your stature to have prepared for this eventuality and am quite disappointed in you and your men.  It seems I had been led to believe that you were much more efficient than I should have given you credit for.  However, now is not the time or the place to discuss this.  Once we are well away from harm's path, I will take the time to consider the implications of this incident."  He turned to proceed down the hall but paused, his eyes growing positively chilling, his features hard and unforgiving as he pinned the other man in place with only a look.  "And I can assure you that _I_ will see to it that this does not reflect upon myself.  What that bodes for _you_, however, remains to be seen."

           A chill run down Randolph's spine and he nodded once before pushing through the door as the other man continued on his way back to the guest roomo. 

           Ten minutes later, both men were hastily descending the stairs side by side, briefcases in hand and coats slung over their arms as they strode purposely toward the side entrance where Vitalis and three other men, two of which were Bartinol's personal guard, waited patiently with the cars. Bartinol and Randolph slid into the back seat as one of Bartinol's men climbed into the front along with Randolph's driver.  "What of your wife?" Bartinol asked casually, raising an eyebrow as he settled more comfortably in the plush leather interior.

"What of her?" Randolph replied coldly.  "She was merely part of an illusion.  As I have found myself exposed, I am no longer in need of her.  She knew nothing of my true agenda and is of no consequence to me.  Let Larabee and his dogs have her."

 Vitalis and the remaining two men started the front car and lead the group through a small gate at the back of the estate, passing an unmarked car not far from the gate with two figures slumped ominously over inside.  They drove down a small, dirt road through the forested lands behind the mansion for several minutes before passing through a fairly concealed entrance and pulling onto a small highway.  Just as they turned the first curve in the road, spot lights flashed in the distance in the rearview mirrors as helicopters and other federal vehicles swarmed the mansion.  Both vehicles sped away into the night, headed toward freedom, leaving the chaos behind them.

* * * * * * *

           The two vehicles entered the parking lot of the abandoned store just as the dawn was cresting the eastern horizon. A small car waited for them across the cracked surface near the building, a figure pacing nervously in front.  The man looked up as the two larger vehicles approached and the men exited the cars amid slamming doors, and he met them at the entrance to the structure.  "I see you did manage to evade Johnson and Larabee, then?"

           Bartinol smiled and put his arm around the man's shoulder.  "Yes, Eddie, we did, thanks to you."

           Vitalis quickly rounded them and broke the lock off the door then stepped back to allow them to enter.  "You have done excellent work, my friend, and will be fitly compensated," Bartinol continued as they stepped inside the cold, barren room.  "I have men on their way now as we speak to escort us to a private airstrip.  Within the hour we will be well away from Mr. Larabee, Mr. Johnson, and the fear of prosecution."  One of his guards dusted off a corner of the old desk that sat along the back wall and he settled there, crossing his arms and facing the smaller man.  "I must say, though, that I was surprised to find you and Johnson in Denver.  Mind telling me who tipped you off to my presence?"

           "But first, will you explain just who you are and what ties you have to Larabee?" Randolph broke in.  Bartinol frowned at the man, but nodded for Thomas to continue.

           "My name is Edward Thomas, agent for the FBI and Interpol," Eddie started.  "I just met Mr. Larabee the other day when he contacted Agent Johnson in regards to an operation to bring down your smuggling business.  It seems one of Mr. Larabee's men, an Agent Standish, had infiltrated your organization and had obtained records exposing your company and Mr. Vitalis over there," he nodded to Tony.  "Standish also knew of the meeting this morning with Mr. Bartinol.  That's one of the reasons Agent Johnson and myself were brought in."

           Randolph shot a poisonous look toward Tony before returning his attention to the nervous, rumpled man before him.  "One of the reasons?" he asked mildly.

            "Mr. Standish had help escaping from that hangar the other night—a street kid, right?" Eddie asked.

           Randolph's eyes narrowed.  "Yes."

           Eddie looked toward Bartinol and swallowed hard.  "That kid was Alexandria Sanders."

           Bartinol took in a sharp breath.   "The daughter of Allen Sanders?" he asked harshly.

           Eddie closed his eyes and nodded.  Bartinol cursed, and Randolph looked at him in confusion.  "Who is she?" he asked.

           Bartinol stood up and paced in front of the desk in agitation.  "She is the daughter of an old nemesis of mine, one that I liquidated some years ago.  She had disappeared and was presumed dead."

           Randolph raised an eyebrow.  "It seems that was exaggerated," he commented.

           "Yes, it appears so."  Bartinol stopped his movements and turned to Eddie.  "Where is she?" he demanded coldly.

"In protective custody along with Standish at Larabee's ranch west of here, where he and Johnson have set up their base of operations," Eddie answered.

Randolph again glared at Vitalis.  "And just how did you manage to miss that?" he hissed.

Tony swallowed hard.  "I sent men out there early in the week, sir.  There was no sign of Larabee there."

"And it did not occur to you to post a watch?"  Randolph was positively livid.

Tony shook his head.  "We were short-handed, sir, what with the disaster at the hangar and preparing for this meet.  I assigned men to search the city for Standish and to watch the federal building and the homes of the agents in town, but simply did not have the man power to watch the ranch.   And since Larabee and his men were remaining in the city, I assumed that Standish would also stay within the city,"

"You are an idiot, Tony," Randolph growled.  "Standish was too much of a danger to make assumptions such as that!  Do you realize what your mistake has cost me?"

Bartinol raised a hand to interrupt.  "Deal with that later!" he commanded sharply.  "We have more important matters to handle."  He turned back to Eddie.  "Did you speak to her?  Does she still have the key?"

           Eddie licked his lips and shook his head. "No sir, she doesn't have the key.  She has the disks."

           Bartinol's eyes widened in surprise.  "She has the _disks_?!"

           "Yes, sir.  And she has turned them over to Johnson," Eddie answered then flinched away as the older man exploded into what he assumed was a litany of curses in some other language and ran a hand through his hair in distraction before viciously kicking a crate out of his way in fury and stalking a few paces away from the group.

           Randolph paused in his own anger to watch in amusement as his house guest finally lost his calm, cool, and collected composure.  The other man had been infuriatingly unruffled by the forced retreat into the night, and it irked him that he had to depend on that man for that escape, especially since it made him appear weak in the eyes of a potential business partner.

           And if there was one thing that Paul Randolph was not, it was weak.

           Of course, the entire blame for this debacle rested on Tony Vitalis's shoulders.  He turned his icy blue eyes coolly toward the man in question.  Tony had allowed Standish to infiltrate the organization, Tony had allowed him to escape with incriminating evidence, and Tony had failed to eliminate the agent before he placed said evidence in the hands of the proper authorities.  Though Tony had performed admirably over the years, recent events had made it clear that the man had become slipshod and careless.  

Perhaps it was time to find a new right hand man.

He looked at the double agent thoughtfully, crossing his arms over his chest.  "You said that they made Larabee's ranch their headquarters?" he asked mildly, interrupting Bartinol in mid-rant.

"Y-yes, sir," Eddie quickly answered, glancing at Bartinol out of the corner of his eye.  In all the years he had known the man, he had never once saw him lose his temper, and he was wondering what the fallout would be.

Randolph tapped his chin as he worked through the details of a hazy plan that was forming at the fringes of in mind.  "Therefore, they kept all paperwork concerning this case there?"

Eddie nodded, not liking where this conversation was headed.  He just wanted to get out of Denver and the US as fast as possible.  "Yes, sir.  It was against normal procedure not to file any evidence gathered with the appropriate departments, but because of the sensitivity of this case and the fact that they did not want to tip you or Mr. Bartinol off, the higher ups granted permission to keep everything at the ranch house.  Larabee and Johnson showed just enough of what they had to the authorities to gain the proper back up and get the arrest warrants, but kept the rest to themselves.  Johnson was trying to stop history from repeating itself."

Randolph raised a questioning eyebrow at the last comment.

"Eddie here was the partner of Agent Sanders and provided me with valuable information as to his activities," Bartinol explained.  He frowned.  "Agent Sanders was able to gather considerable evidence against me, but Eddie intercepted that evidence before it was able to cause any harm to myself.  However, one copy remains in play." 

"Ah, the disks," Randolph nodded in understanding.  "And I can assume that evidence would be quite damaging to you if it should remain in the hands of the authorities?"

Bartinol settled back on the desk corner, his shrewd eyes narrowing as he began to see where Randolph was going with this. "It is six years out of date and would not harm my more recent ventures, but yes, it would still cause serious havoc to my enterprises."

Randolph smiled and spread his arms in a friendly gesture.  "Then sir, I do believe that you and I are in the same boat, so to speak.  You see, Mr. Standish has obtained certain documents concerning my own organization that can cause substantial damage to myself and has indeed led to our current circumstances.  While retrieval of said documents would not be able to halt the investigation into myself, it would provide enough of a delay for me to make an escape to a healthier clime and somewhat contain the wreckage.  May I presume that the same can be said of the disks in your case?"

Bartinol crossed his own arms and rubbed his chin.  "Diverting to the ranch would be quite a risk," he mused.

"But it would also be the last action they would expect us to take.  And should we succeed, the benefit would be enormous," Randolph pushed.  "I don't see where we have any choice."

Bartinol considered the idea before finally nodding in agreement.  "You are right.  I must make sure that those disks and any copies created be completely destroyed."  He turned to the nearest guard.  "Call the plane, let them know of the change in plans," he commanded.  The lackey immediately headed for the door, pulling a cell phone out as he went.  Bartinol focused a piercing gaze on Eddie.  "You know the location of the guards surrounding the ranch?"

Eddie nodded slowly and Bartinol smiled before looking back up at the gun smuggler.  "Then I suggest that we plot a course of action."

Five minutes later they were headed back out to the cars with Eddie leading the way.  As Tony held the door open for his employer, Randolph paused to give him a scathing glare.  "This is your final opportunity to correct your mistakes, Tony," he growled.  "I expect Standish to be eliminated as a possible threat to me in the future, or _you_ will suffer in his place.  Do I make myself clear?"  His expression left no room for doubt that failure of any kind would not bode well for the younger man.

"Yes, sir," Tony answered quietly.  "Standish won't leave that ranch unless it's in the back of a hearse." 

Randolph didn't comment as he settled back into his seat.  Tony closed the door and climbed into the front, instructing the driver to follow the small escort that Eddie had managed to appropriate when he escaped.

Bartinol leaned over as the car pulled back out onto the highway.  "And I want _you_ to understand, Mr. Randolph," he said, keeping his voice low so as not to alert the men in the front, "that the same can be said for _you_.  I _will_ hold _you_ responsible should this not go according to plan."  His eyes glittered with promise, causing a cold chill to race up Randolph's spine.

Randolph swallowed and nodded and the crime master sat back in his seat and turned his attention to the scenery that was beginning to take shape in the rapidly approaching dawn. 

* * * * * * *

           Chris Larabee slammed the front doors of the mansion open and strode purposely into the two-story foyer, the tails of his black duster billowing behind him, combining with the dark and foreboding expression on his face to give him the appearance of a wraith from the darkest corner of hell.  He looked up to see his sharpshooter descend the curving staircase, his rifle held firmly in his hand.  Vin caught his team leader's eye and shook his head negatively, and Chris uttered a sharp curse before lifting the radio to his lips.  "Any sign of them?" he growled into the receiver.

           There was a burst of static before Ryan Kelly's voice come across the airwaves.  "None out back."  Another voice mumbled something in the background accompanied with a brief pause before Kelly came back on air, his tone somber.  "Chris?  You'd better come see this."

           Chaos was everywhere on the grounds of the mansion as Chris and Vin made their way to the wall at the back of the property, a sense of foreboding quickening their pace.  Kelly met them there, his face grim as he led them through a small wrought iron gate and down the dirt road beyond a short ways until they reached a small clearing, still within sight of the house.  He motioned toward a dark car sitting silently just to the side of the road where Douglas Stone and Josiah Sanchez were bent over something on the ground.  "Stone and Sanchez found those two missing FBI agents who were on surveillance," he explained gravely.

           Chris stepped closer to the two men and grimaced when he saw the two bodies they were kneeling over.  Josiah looked up at his leader and shook his head.  "Dead.  Throats slit," he replied to the questioning gaze.

           Vin moved further down the road and squatted to get a closer look at something at his feet.  "Two cars came through here recently," he announced.  The others turned their attention to him as he motioned toward the tire tracks left in the mud as he stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans.  "I'd say no more than thirty minutes ago, tops."

           Chris cursed bitterly and spun around to stomp back toward the car, his hands balled into fists. "Thomas must have warned them," he stated angrily.  "Kelly?  Have one of your men let the feds know what happened and get a clean up crew down here."  

           The leader of team eight nodded and jogged back up to the gate as he changed the frequency on his radio and spoke commands into it.  Chris looked down at Stone.  "Find out where this road goes to.  It'll give us a place to start."  He turned to Josiah.  "Contact Reed and have his men start setting up road blocks on every route out of the city. Have Johnson alert train stations, bus stations, and every dirt strip that calls itself an airfield within fifty miles of the city. If we're lucky, we'll be able to cut them off before they can get very far."

           The two men quickly headed off to perform their assigned tasks as Vin stepped up beside the team leader.  "You really think they're headed out of town?" he asked mildly, worry showing from the blue depths of his eyes.

           Chris ran a hand through his hair.  "It would be expected."

           Vin snorted. "Since when do the criminals we deal with ever do what we expect them to?"

           Chris gave him a side-long glance.  "You're right.  Call Buck and give him a heads up, just in case."

* * * * * * *

           The sun was peaking over the trees as Ally stepped into the living room carrying two steaming coffee mugs and quietly set one down on the end table where Buck was pacing, the telephone receiver glued to his ear.  He mouthed a thank-you without taking his attention from the conversation.  "Okay, Junior.  Things have been pretty quiet here, but we'll be on the lookout….Yeah.  You guys watch your backs."  Buck hung up the phone and turned to face Ezra and Alex.  He ran a hand down his face.  "That was Vin," he explained, reaching for the mug.

           "I can assume that Randolph and Bartinol have evaded capture, then," Ezra commented from the couch.  He looked up and nodded his thanks as Ally handed him the other mug before moving to perch on the arm of the recliner.

           Buck grimaced.  "Yeah.  Guess Thomas got to them."  He took a sip from his mug then raised his eyebrows as he took another larger one.  This was definitely not the regular brew Chris kept.  Must have been that imported stuff Ezra insisted on getting.  Whatever it was, it was dang good!

He had to hand it to Ez—the man sure knew his coffee!

           "So what are they doing now?" Alex asked.  Though her expression was carefully guarded, her eyes betrayed her worry.

"Vin says he don't think they had more than an hour's head start," Buck answered her, "and the first three miles of that was down an old dirt track behind the mansion before they finally came out on a small two-lane in the middle of  nowhere.  They couldn't have gotten far in that time.  And Chris and the feds are sewing this city up tighter than a drum.  Don't you worry—they'll get them," he assured her.

           The girl just shook her head, not convinced.  She knew Bartinol too well.

           Buck set a hip on the back of the couch and crossed his arms while finishing his coffee.  "The good news is that the troopers and team three have the warehouse locked down, and Johnson's men have found a truck load of stuff at the company.  They also arrested the other board members involved.  If nothing else, Randolph's gun smuggling and drug running operations are over."

           "But that is simply capturing the minnows while the larger fish get away," Ezra shook his head.  "We may have dealt a serious blow to Mr. Randolph's enterprises, but he will just rebuild his network from another locale.  We must capture the head man himself if we want to put a permanent end to all this.  The same can be said for Bartinol."

           "Hey, have a little faith, Pard," Buck protested.  "We've got 'em on run now.  It'll only be a matter of time—we'll catch 'em."

           "I hope so, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra muttered, glancing over at Ally, who sat gazing at her hands, her mind a million miles and several years away.

           She felt his gaze and, looking up to meet his eyes, gave a weak smile and a shrug that seemed to say she'd be all right.  Ezra returned the gesture with a smile of his own as he sipped at the cup in his hand.  Alex looked over at Buck.  "Do you think there's a chance Randolph and Bartinol will head our way?" she asked.

           "Nah, not really," Buck shook his head.  "Shoot, they're probably headed for the nearest—" the sound of a barking dog outside cut him off and he glanced toward the window.  

The sound was abruptly silenced, and he exchanged an uneasy glance with Ezra before rising to his feet and pulling his gun out of his shoulder holster.  He inched toward the front door, gun raised high as he motioned for Ezra and Ally to move back.  Ezra stood up and made to move around the coffee table, reaching for his gun and intent on getting to Ally—

The front door flew open with a crash.  Buck let out a yell and turn to face the threat when a shot sounded from the kitchen doorway.  A cry of pain occurred behind him, and Ezra whirled around just in time to see Buck's head jerk back toward his shoulder, a spray of crimson splattering his shirt as he crash back against the wall and slid slowly to the floor.  

"Buck!" Ezra yelled, his heart jumping into his throat as he spun around, lifting his firearm toward the newest threat—and froze as he recognized the smiling features of Tony Vitalis.

The man aimed his gun right between the agent's eyes.  "Drop it, Standish," he commanded coldly.

"Ezra!"

He looked toward the hallway entrance to see another gunman with a firm grasp on Ally's arm, the barrel of his weapon pressed firmly to the side of her head.  Ally's eyes were wide with fear, not for herself, but for the man before her.  "Ezra, please—drop the gun," she requested quietly.

"I would suggest you do as she says."  

Ezra looked beyond Ally and the gunman to watch a tall, distinguished figure that until now he had only seen in photos enter the room through the hallway with Eddie Thomas trailing sedately behind him.  Sean Bartinol came to a stop beside Ally and her captor.  "I would so hate to have to order my man to kill her."  His glittering black eyes left no doubt that he would not hesitate to do so.

Ezra licked his lips and glanced back to Buck's still body lying along the wall and the gunman standing over it before meeting Alex's eyes once more.  Finally, he nodded and tossed the gun toward Vitalis before raising his hands into the air.  

Alex closed her eyes in relief.  

Two other gunmen entered through the front door and stopped beside the first, their guns all aimed at him and Ally.  Vitalis gave him a triumphant grin as he bent over and picked the gun up, sliding it into the waist band of his pants and moving further into the room.  Paul Randolph stepped through the kitchen doorway behind him, his long gray coat flapping at his legs and his hands in his pockets.  He cocked his head at Ezra and smiled wickedly, his blue eyes shining with malice.  "Agent Standish.  Our last conversation was so rudely interrupted.  Perhaps we can now have a chance to conclude it?"


	19. In the Clutches of the Enemy

Boy, these things are flying off the shelf now! I even gave up a nice, long, leisurely nap to get this updated and posted before I went to work, all just for you guys!

 Like I said before, I've gotten to the part I like best now, and these last few chapters don't have much that I need to change, like the first chapters did.  See?  I did improve as I went along!  And as I promise, things are finally picking up!  

Lora—thanks so much for your review today (3/22)—it was a great birthday present!  I'm so glad you're enjoying this.  And don't worry—I'll get back to Buck shortly.  Promise!

Okay, I'll quit yammering and get on with the story. 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 19 

           "Laslo," Bartinol motioned toward his gunman standing at the front door as he stepped further into the room, "go back out front and stand watch.  Make sure that we do not have any unwanted intruders."

           The henchmen nodded and headed back out the door, stepping over Buck's body without a second glance.  Vitalis jerked his head at one of his own guards toward the back door as he trained his gun on Ezra.  "Get out back and do the same thing."

           The second gunman pushed past his boss and jogged through the kitchen out the back, leaving two other gunmen in addition to Vitalis and the crime lords in the room—and still out-numbering the good guys by two to one.  Bartinol turned to Alex and motioned for his guard to release her arm.  She stepped back toward Ezra, her face devoid of all emotion except for contempt and her eyes hooded as she faced the man who had destroyed her life.  Bartinol allowed a faint smile to come to his lips as he recognized the expression that the girl wore—it was the same one that her father had worn when he faced him all those years ago.

           The girl certainly was her father's daughter.

           "Miss Sanders," he said pleasantly, "it has been a long time.  It is so good to see you alive and healthy.  I had begun to believe like the others that you had met an unfortunate demise."

           Alex shrugged as she looked up into his eyes, the hint of promise and determination shining in her own.  "Much to your disappointment, I'm sure," she answered.

           "On the contrary, my dear," he disagreed as he pulled his gloves off.  "I have nothing against you personally and do not wish to see any harm come to you."

           "Funny, that wasn't the impression I got six years ago in Vancouver," she observed wryly.

           "Yes, well, at that point it was in my own interest, but the following events made it no longer necessary.  I do not just murder at will, contrary to what you may think.  I find that it brings so many more problems than it solves in the long run.  Therefore, I use it only as a last resort and purely for business reasons only.  Murder to satisfy some petty need for revenge or other some such foolish reason is uncouth at best and simply unprofessional," Bartinol explained casually as he sat down on the arm of the recliner.  

"So it's a 'nothing personal; this is just business' sort of thing?" Ezra asked derisively.  "And I can assume the deaths of the young lady's parents fell into that category as well?"

"But of course," Bartinol shrugged.  "Personally, I had great admiration for the man.  He was quite an excellent agent, and I wholly enjoyed our little game of wits.  However, he insisted on repeatedly interfering with my affairs, something that I could not allow to continue.  And I did offer other options and warnings, but he chose the noble route," he shook his head.  "He should have understood that chivalry was antiquated, nobility passé, and both severely over-rated.  Had he heeded my numerous warnings and left well enough alone, he would still be alive and well today.  But he insisted on pursuing the matter, and I'm afraid, suffered the consequences."

Ezra raised an eyebrow.  "I suppose since you risked coming here instead of absconding from the city as quickly as possible, you have decided that the demise of the young lady is a crucial necessity?"

Bartinol rested his hands on his crossed knee and shook his head.  "Actually, Mr. Standish, that is not true.  I am here only for the disks that her father compiled.  In fact, had she simply given me the disks six years ago, this whole situation could have been avoided entirely. I do not enjoy killing women and children and have no wish to eradicate such a young and promising life.  Having that said, however," he went on, a dangerous light coming to his eyes as he focused on the girl, "Understand that I will not hesitate to use such practices should they become necessitated."

Alex returned his gaze unflinchingly, her features cold and composed.  "Oh, I understand completely."

"While this entire conversation is fascinating, can we get on to the topic at hand?  We are running on a tight schedule, if you remember."  Randolph glanced at his watch impatiently and grimaced.  "I would prefer to be well on my way out of the state before Larabee calls to check in here and realizes what has happened."  He turned to his men.  "Search the house.  Find the ledgers."

The gunmen nodded and quickly began ransacking the house.  Tony held Ezra in place by training his gun on the man while Alex dropped to her knees beside Buck.  Ezra watched in apprehension as she carefully laid the man completely down onto the floor and checked his pulse and breathing rate.  She looked up with a swift nod and a small smile and Ezra sighed in relief at her assurance that for now, Buck was doing alright.  Alex placed a throw pillow from the couch under his head and used the linen doily from under the telephone to gently but firmly press against the gash on the man's forehead in an effort to stop the bleeding.  A few minutes later, the searchers returned with empty hands and shakes of their heads indicating they had found nothing.  Randolph sighed and turned to Ezra.  "Where are they?"

Ezra leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms.  "I'm sorry, but the objects in question are in the hands of the proper authorities," he stated mildly.

Randolph shook his head.  "And I don't believe you.  Agent Thomas says they are here in this house." He narrowed his eyes.  "I want them now."

Ezra shrugged.  "You have been misinformed, sir.  They are not here."

Randolph gave him a piercing stare before stepping back with a shrug and nodding at Tony.  "If it must be done this way," he sighed long-sufferingly while raising his eyes to the ceiling with a shake of his head. 

Vitalis walked up to Ezra and promptly buried his iron-like fist in the middle of the agent's stomach.  Ezra's breath whooshed from his lungs and he fell to his hands and knees, one arm clutching his midriff while he gasped for air.  Tony reached down and grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling his head up to face the crime lord.  "Really, Agent Standish," Randolph shook his head, "this is the hard way.  Simply give me what I want, and this can all end here."

Ezra bent his head back as far as he could, trying to relieve the pain of having his hair tore from his head by the roots and still trying to get air into his sluggish lungs, but he managed to give the man a proxy of his trademark smile.  "I'm afraid I cannot do that."

Randolph frowned and glanced at Tony, who took his cue and viciously backhanded the barrel of his pistol across the southerner's face.  Ezra saw it coming out of the corner of his eye and twisted to avoid serious damage, but still received a wicked cut along his left cheek and he fell across the slumped form of Buck on the floor beside him.  Dazed, Ezra pushed himself up on his hands, straddling the body of his friend as he tried to regain his wits.  He fingered the cut gingerly and looked at his fingers, frowning at the blood staining their tips and dripping onto the t-shirt of the man below him.  He stared at the growing bloodstain below him, trying to remember what happened.  Randolph and Bartinol escaped….were here…wanted to know where the evidence was….Buck, hurt—his eyes widened at the last thought and he quickly turned his head to see the bloodied features of his unconscious friend.  It took a moment before he registered the slight rise and fall of the t-shirted chest below him, but when he did, he closed his eyes in relief.  

 Vitalis, however, gave him no room for more thought before grabbing his hair once again and jerking him to his feet while twisting his left arm behind him in an agonizing lock.  Ezra's eyes widened at the pain, recognizing that the man held his bad arm in his grip even as he felt the tendons slip in his shoulder.  He grimaced and shifted, trying to ease the pressure on the appendage before the shoulder popped out of socket.  Vitalis pressed the barrel of his gun against his right ear and leaned in close.  "The man asked you a simple question.  Answer him," he ordered.

Ezra gritted his teeth but refused to back down.  "Go to h**l," he hissed.

Tony growled in anger and pulled the agent around, violently propelling him into the wall then reaching up to slam his head face first against the wood paneling twice more before kneeing him in the kidneys.  Ezra sank to the floor with a groan.

Randolph tsked as he squatted down beside the man.  "This is but a mere glimpse of what Tony is capable of, Mr. Standish, and I can assure you, he can prolong your agony for hours, but as fascinating as that prospect is, I'm afraid I'm running short on time.  I must insist on knowing where those documents are located."

Ezra pushed himself up into a sitting position and gently tested his sore nose, deciding that it wasn't broken.  He then looked up at the man, a brazen smile on his bloody lips, and shrugged.  "I'm sorry, but I cannot recollect the whereabouts of said documents."

Randolph's eyes narrowed as he stood to his feet.  "Then you need something to jog your memory.  What do you suggest, Tony?" he asked mildly.

Tony grinned wickedly and cocked his pistol.  "How about a bullet to the knees?" he offered, aiming his gun at Ezra's legs.

"An excellent idea."  All humor left Randolph's face. "Tell me where the disks are, Agent Standish." 

The fear of being crippled flashed through Ezra, but he pushed it deep down, refusing to allow his enemy to see it.  He glanced over at Alex and saw her pale slightly, dread written clearly in her features.  His gaze roamed back to the penitent features of Thomas, who refused to meet his eyes.  Finally, he looked over at the still form of his comrade in arms, and made his decision.   He knew that if he were to turn the evidence over to them, Randolph would not hesitate to kill them all immediately. He also knew that the others would soon realize something was wrong and would be on their way.  

For all their sakes, he had to stall for more time, no matter what the cost to himself. 

Ezra licked his lips before meeting his enemy's piercing gaze with an indifferent one of his own. "Do what you must, then.  I'm afraid I simply cannot oblige you, sir."

           Randolph stood back and slipped his hands into his pockets as he intently studied the defiant features of the agent for a moment before looking back up to meet the questioning look in his henchman's eyes.  "So be it," he said and nodded to Tony. 

           Tony grinned and squeezed the trigger.

           Ezra looked straight into the gunman's eyes and braced himself for the impact and pain—but neither came.  Instead, He watched in horror as the man turned and aimed at Alex and Buck just as he pulled the trigger.  "No!"  Ezra yelled even as the bullet exploded from the chamber.

           Alex's eyes widened as she watched the gun barrel swing from Ezra to her a second before the shot sounded.  She gasped and ducked over Buck's head, cringing as she felt splinters rain down on her back from the hole in the paneling a scant two inches above where her head had been.  She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and let out a shuddering breath before glancing up into Ezra's fearful gaze and smiling weakly in reassurance.  He slumped back against the wall in relief.

           "Tell me where the evidence is, or the next bullet will be significantly lower," Randolph demanded harshly.  

           Ezra glanced back at Alex and Buck and sighed.  "The closet floor in the bathroom has a panel that comes up.  Mr. Larabee keeps a strongbox in the space underneath.  He put the ledgers and the disks in there."

           Bartinol jerked his head back toward the hallway and his lackey immediately backtracked toward the appointed room.  He returned a few minutes later with the strongbox in hand, which he set onto the coffee table.  Tony shot the lock off the box and pushed the lid open to glance inside.  "They're here, Boss," he grinned, reaching in for the top book, which he quickly handed to Randolph.  

           Randolph quickly flipped through the ledgers before closing them with a snap.  He handed them back to his gunman to be slipped into a messenger bag and turned to Ezra with a smile.  "Thank you for your cooperation, Agent."

           Ezra met his snide smirk with a contemptuous look of his own.  "I assure you, it was no pleasure at all."

           Bartinol stood up from his seat as he flipped through the disks, nodding as he recognized the handwriting on the floppy versions and taking note of the compact disk versions.  He tapped them back into order and looked at Randolph.  "I want to check these."

           "We don't have time!"  Randolph started to protest, but quickly quieted under the decidedly cold look he received from the crime lord.

           "We will make time," Bartinol said evenly.  He turned to Ezra.  "Where is Larabee's computer?"

           "The dining room," Ezra answered in a monotone as he gingerly dabbed at the slowly congealing cut on his cheek with his handkerchief.

           Bartinol nodded and headed toward the room with a determined stride, and Randolph let out a quiet curse before jerking his head toward the room and following the other man.  Tony waved the gun, indicating that Ezra and Alex were to get to their feet before herding them after the others.  The last gunman paused beside the fallen ladies' man and nudged him with his boot.  When Buck didn't respond, the man nodded and followed the others, leaving the agent on the floor.

* * * * * * *

           Chris and Vin rode in silence as they cruised down the small highway in the gathering light of dawn.  After Stone had reported where the dirt road led, he and Vin had quickly left the mansion operation under Kelly's expert hands and had taken off down the road, hoping to pick up a trail.  Mud on the pavement at the end of the track indicated which direction the other vehicle had gone and they had quickly picked up the pursuit, keeping an eye out for any turn-offs while monitoring the investigation over the radio.  They had been driving for twenty minutes before Vin spoke up.  "Pull off here," he directed suddenly from his seat on the passenger side of the Ram.

            Chris braked and whipped the large black truck off the small highway into the rutted parking lot of the small abandoned store, causing Vin to grab the door handle to keep from sliding across the seat onto his boss.  "Smooth, Larabee," he muttered with a quick, annoyed glance at his leader as he pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool air before the truck had completely come to a rest, pulling his gun from his shoulder hostler as he went.  

Chris's one-fingered gesture was his only reply as he slammed the pick-up into park and followed the lanky Texan out, ignoring the yellowish mud that covered the vehicle as he pulled his own gun to give his friend cover.  A quick search proved the area to be empty.  Vin walked up to the store front and nodded at the broken lock before squatting down and looking at something on the pavement.  He reached down and fingered a dark stain, bringing the black substance up to his nose before wiping his hands off on his jeans.  "Oil.  Fresh," he commented quietly, looking up at the blond. 

           Chris nodded in acknowledgement as he slowly pushed the door open to the building, cautiously peering into the gloomy interior before making his way inside.  He took note of the disturbance in the dust-covered floor that was evident in the wane light filtering in through the filthy plate-glass window in the front of the room.  Vin followed him inside and made a quick search of the room.  "They were here," he noted.

           "Yep," Chris answered, taking another look around before they stepped back outside.

           Vin holstered his gun before giving his leader a pointed look.  "I'd say they have no more than a twenty minute lead on us."

           Chris ran a hand down his face.  "Yeah, but where did they go from here?" he wondered out loud.

           Vin glanced back down at the oil stain, a shrewd glint entering his eye as he contemplated it.  He crossed back and forth in the front of the building before nodding once to himself.  He looked back up at Chris, an uneasy look on his face.  "I think they met someone."

           "Thomas?"  Chris asked.

            "Could be."

           Chris sighed and holstered his own gun as he glanced down the road, an edgy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.  "Wonder why they headed this way," he commented suddenly.  "This road leads away from DIA and Jefferson County both, and it's headed out into the mountains.  The interchange with I-70 was five miles back and the next is not for another ten miles.  If they plan on getting out of the state in a hurry, they'd have to take the interstate."

           Vin studied the west-bound road until it disappeared around a bend, his uneasiness quickly growing.  "You said the next exit is ten miles ahead of us.  Which one is that?" he asked suddenly.

           "Chester Junction.  It's two exits away from the one to the—S**t!" Chris exclaimed as he picked up on the tracker's line of thought.  "You don't think—"

           "It's a long shot, but then again," Vin shrugged, "I'd rest a lot easier if'n we were to head on out there, though."

           Chris nodded.  "I think you're right."  They turned back to the truck as one and quickly climbed in.  "Call Buck again," he ordered as they peeled out of the lot with a squeal of tires.  "Let him know what could be headed his way."

           He glanced over at his passenger to find him one step ahead, the phone already glued to his ear.  Vin met his gaze with a tense one of his own a few seconds later as he slowly lowered the earpiece.  "No answer."

           "D**n-it!" Chris cursed, hitting the wheel with a resounding smack.  He grabbed for the radio.  "JD!  We've picked up their trail and think they're headed for the ranch.  Get everyone out there now!"

           He slammed the gas pedal all the way the floorboard as the powerful truck roared out of another turn on two wheels.  They sat in taut silence as the scenery rushed by in a blur, both willing the vehicle to go faster, praying for a miracle even as dread of what awaited them filled their hearts.

* * * * * * *

           They all gathered loosely around the table as Bartinol settled in at the desk in the corner and waited patiently for the computer to boot up before inserting the first disk.  After he viewed each disk, he physically destroyed it.  Finally he finished and swiveled the chair around from the pile of plastic to face Ezra.  "Is that all of it?" he asked.

           Ezra fixed him with a laconic stare and nodded.  "Yes."

           Bartinol studied the cool expression for a moment, searching for a sign of deceit before standing from the chair.  "I suppose I must take your word for that," he mused as he pulled on the patent leather gloves and stepped away from the computer.  He suddenly pulled a small silver pistol out of his pocket and emptied the clip in the CPU.  Sparks flew across the room and smoke wafted on the air in the silence that followed the shots as everyone stared at the mangled machine.  Bartinol pocketed the gun and gave Standish a half smirk.  "Do forgive that.  I did need to make sure that a copy did not reside on the hard drive, after all."

           Ezra glanced back over at the smoldering remains and the scorch marks blackening the desk top and the wall behind it and shook his head ruefully.  

           Chris was going to _love_ that.

           Bartinol stopped in the doorway and turned to Randolph.  "I suggest we vacate these premises post haste," he said, all humor gone from his features.

           "But what about Standish and the girl?" Vitalis asked.

           Bartinol shrugged.  "What you do with them is your concern.  I have what I wanted and wash my hands of the whole affair."

           Tony looked at his boss.  "Mr. Randolph?"

           Paul Randolph glanced at his watch with a frown before looking up to meet Ezra's piercing green eyes.  His own blue gaze narrowed in maliciousness before he turned back to his henchman.  "Kill them," he commanded.

           "W-wait a minute there!" Eddie protested.  He pushed forward and grabbed Bartinol by the arm, but dropped his hold when the older man turned a decidedly cold stare on him.  "You said that you would leave Alex alone if you got the disks!" he insisted.

           Bartinol straightened the sleeve of the cashmere coat and glanced over at the girl in question before turning back to the man before him.  "And I have.  However, I have no control over the actions and decisions of Mr. Randolph.  As I stated, I'm no longer involved." He stepped out of the room.

           Eddie turned his gaze on Randolph, but found no give in the older man.  Randolph nodded at his men.  "Do it, then set the place afire as you leave."  He smiled at Ezra.  "We want to leave Larabee a clear message as to what happens when he begins nosing in other people's business.  Fitting, don't you think, Mr. Standish?"

           "B*****d!" Ezra growled angrily at the other man, understanding the man's hidden meaning and realizing what such as scene would do to his commander.  

Randolph only laughed as he pulled on his gloves and adjusted the collar of his coat.  "May you burn in h**l, Mr. Standish," he cheerily called over his shoulder as he left the room.

           Tony grinned as he checked the load in his pistol and nodded at his man before taking careful aim right between Ezra's eyes, his man doing likewise to the girl.  "Say goodbye, Agent," he chuckled as he slowly squeezed the trigger.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Don't ya just love these kinds of cliff hangers? **grins cheekily**

I'd love to hear from ya, so please review—they make my day and ensure more timely updates!


	20. Showdown

CHAPTER 20 

           Several things happened at once.

           Eddie watched in horror as the gun was leveled at his old partner's daughter and as though something suddenly snapped inside of him, he realized that he couldn't just stand by passively and let her be killed.  As the gunman pulled the trigger, he drew his own weapon and with a mighty yell, took a flying leap at the girl, pushing her out of harm's way even as he squeezed the trigger.  The gunman's shot passed harmlessly over their heads, but Eddie's was true, the bullet drilling a neat hole in the center of the gunman's chest, knocking him back against the wall.  The gunman slid slowly to the floor, the gun falling from nerveless fingers as he stared in shock at the growing red stain on the front of his shirt seconds before his eye's rolled up into his head and he slumped over.

           At the same time, Tony, hearing the shout, whirled around in time to see Eddie draw his gun and fired at the rogue FBI agent, hitting him as he sailed through the air.  Eddie hit the floor with a groan, clutching a bloody hand to his right shoulder.

           The other gunman started to fire his own weapon at the girl but was hindered as a body crashed into him, pushing his gun up and back as the weapon discharged, drilling a hole in the sliding glass door behind him.  Ezra had instantly taken advantage of the distraction and leaped at the remaining thug, sending them both crashing through the weakened panel in a shower of glass.  Ezra rolled off the man as soon as they hit the deck outside and vaulted over the railing, the fact that the man he had landed on was unconscious or worse barely registering in the back of his mind.  He hit the ground running, sprinting for the tree line thirty yards from the house, intent only on drawing Tony and the other guards away from the house and his friends within.

           Tony turned back in time to see the pair crash through the glass.  He fired at the two, but missed, and, with a curse, veered around the table in pursuit.  He paused in the doorway and seeing the agent running for the trees, let off another shot but missed.  "After him!" he yelled to the guard who had been outside as he came running from the direction of the barn.  The man changed direction and headed for the trees.  Tony stepped through the door and jumped the steps to pick up the chase, ignoring the man lying on the deck in a puddle of blood.

           Alex had crashed into the corner of the desk with a thud when Eddie pushed her, but managed to stay aright.  She looked up in time to see Tony slip through the door and Eddie land at her feet.  She started to stoop down to check on the man, but Randolph's shout of "What the h**l?" caused her to pause.  She glanced up to see the two crime lords pushing through the front door and immediately ducked through the kitchen doorway, stooping down slightly as Bartinol let off a wild shot that hit the drywall above her head.  She leaped up and slid across the kitchen table, knocking a chair to the floor as she landed on the other side and dove toward the laundry room without missing a beat.  She stumbled down the short set of stairs just inside the room and hit the concrete floor painfully, but was up in an instant, slamming the door closed and jamming the board from the shelf above the washer under the handle before ducking out the door leading into the garage.   She weaved through the clutter of car parts, tools, and other assorted machinery to the side entrance, slipping through to the outside and sprinting for the trees.

           "D**n-it!" Randolph shouted as he made it to the kitchen doorway in time to see the laundry room door slam shut.  He skirted the table and tried the handle, hitting the wood with his shoulder when the door refused to budge.

           "Leave it!"  Bartinol commanded when he saw that the barrier wasn't going to give.  He jogged back into the living room.  "This way!" 

           Randolph hit the door one last time in anger before turning to follow him back out the front, stepping over Buck's body on his way outside without a second glance at the fallen man.

* * * * * * *

           Buck came to with a groan at the sound of the front door slamming closed, his head pounding and his stomach churning.

           He started to roll over but an intense wave of pain pointed out the foolishness of that act and he stopped on his side, his head lying against the cool floor.  His breath came in pants as he tried to figure out what was going on.  He cracked one eye opened and peered blearily out across the wood floor.  

_Chris's ranch_ he realized.  _A case.__  Ezra and a girl—what was her name?—were in trouble.  Chris and the others left for a bust, I stayed behind for protection.  Heard something, went to see what it was—_

A distant shot sounded outside and his eyes widened.  He reached a shaky hand up to his head and winced as he touched the gash on the side of his head.  "Oh h**l," he groaned, realizing what had happened and who had shot him.

He rolled onto his stomach and paused a moment, waiting for the world to stop gyrating before he pushed down on the floor with his hands and managed to lift his body onto his hands and knees.  He noticed his gun lying just under the edge of the couch and reached down to pick it up before grabbing onto the back of the seat and pulling himself to his feet.  He waited a few more seconds before lifting his head to scan the room.   
  


That was when he noticed Eddie lying in the dining room doorway.  

He stumbled over to the body and ungracefully dropped to his knees beside the man, reaching out to check for breathing.  Realizing that the man was still alive, he looked around for something to use as a compress.  Not finding anything within immediate reach, he pulled himself back up using the door facing as a support and headed for the kitchen.  Though he was seeing double sets of stars, he was able to find the dish towel hanging on the handle of the stove and jerked it off as he turned to go back to the fallen man.  Another distant shot caused him to pause and glance to the kitchen window in apprehension.

He was torn between wanting to go out and help Ezra and trying to save the life of the man in the dining room, but a low groan from the other room made the decision for him.  With a curse, he turned from the window, towel in hand.  He spied the cordless phone lying on the counter and grabbed it up as he pushed back into the dining room and dropped beside the fallen agent.  The fog was slowly lifting from his brain, allowing him to gather his thoughts and form a plan of action.  He quickly dialed the familiar number then balanced the phone on his shoulder as he reached down and pressed the towel against Eddie's shoulder firmly, eliciting another moan from the man.

Back in the Ram, Vin grabbed for the buzzing cell phone on the seat beside him and quickly punched the talk button.  "Yeah?"

"Vin?" Buck asked, glancing up toward the broken door and the tree line beyond as another gunshot echoed across the valley.

"Buck?" Vin asked, glancing up to meet Chris's eye.  He took note of the glint of relief that flashed through the older man's features before punching the speaker phone button. 

 "Are you all right?" Chris demanded.

"Yeah.  Nothing more than a little knock to the head." Buck answered.  He shifted his stance a little as the man underneath his hands groaned again and moved his leg, slowly coming to life.  "It's all right," Buck soothed.  "Stay calm.  Everything's going to be alright."

"What's going on?" Vin's question brought his attention back to the phone.

"Randolph and Bartinol are here.  Eddie's been shot, and I can see one man laying on the floor and another laying on the deck outside, but no one else is in the house," Buck peered through the glass to the body.  "Eddie's still breathing and the one on the floor looks dead, but I can't tell from here if the other guy's alive or not.  We could use a little help right about now, Pard," he commented through gritted teeth.

Chris gripped the steering wheel tightly as he pushed on the gas even harder, trying to squeeze more speed out of the huge vehicle.  "We're on our way.  We'll be there in five minutes."  He looked over to where Vin was talking to JD on the radio.  Vin held up his hand and flashed all five fingers twice.  "The rest of the cavalry are about ten minutes behind us.  Do you know if Ezra's alright?" he asked tersely.

"Don't know.  I don't know what happened.  I was out for a little while.  I keep hearing shots in the distance.  I'm assuming that means he's still moving, at least."  _I hope_ he thought silently, mentally crossing his fingers.

The exit for the interstate loomed ahead of them suddenly and Chris steered onto the ramp with a squeal of tires.  He cut across to the fast lane in front of an eighteen wheeler, ignoring the blast of the air horn as he flicked his siren on while Vin reached into the glove box and set the light on the dash board.  A wail in the distance caught Vin's attention and he glanced in the rearview mirror to see a state trooper careening up the highway a few hundred yards behind them.  "Chris," he said to get the other man's attention.

Chris glanced over at his friend at the one word, and Vin jerked his head toward the back with a small smile.  Chris looked in the rearview mirror and saw six patrol cars turning the curve behind them.  "Hold on, Buck.  Help's coming," he muttered as he turned his attention back to the road.

Buck adjusted the phone against his shoulder and tried to get more pressure on the wound beneath his hands.  "I'll do what I can, Pard.  Just get here."  The phone started to slip and he reached up to grab it.  "Listen, I've got my hands a little full right now.  I'm going to have to get off the line."

"Okay.  See ya soon."  Vin punched the talk button and gripped the arm rest tighter as the next exit came into sight.  Thirty seconds later, Chris was recklessly shooting down the ramp and onto the little highway that twisted up into the mountains where his ranch lay without even slowing down or looking into the mirrors to see if anyone was coming.  All he cared about at the moment was getting to the ranch in time to keep from losing another person close to him.  _Please,_ he begged silently, _let us get there in time._

The large black truck practically flew down the road in response, almost as if it could feel their urgency.

           Buck let the phone clatter to the floor as he turned his attention to stopping anymore blood from escaping the man beneath him.  Another couple of shots resounded and he looked up through the glass door in trepidation.  He suddenly felt a weak grip on his arm and looked down into the pain-filled eyes of the rogue agent.  "I-I c-couldn't let them k-kill her," the man gasped, writhing under the agony he was in.  

           "Shhh now," Buck soothed.  "Just stay calm.  You're gonna be alright."

           Eddie's hand dropped back to the floor and he swallowed once before looking back up at the blurry features of the man leaning over him.  "D-done enough to hurt her.  H-had to end it h-here."

           "I know, Pard, I know," Buck agreed, but the agent had passed out again. 

           One lone shot echoed across the valley, and Buck looked out the door toward the trees once again, fear clenching at his gut.  The finality of the single discharge seemed to indicate that something had finished, but who was the victor?

* * * * * * *

           Ezra ran flat out, weaving in and out of the trees as he tried desperately to gain ground over his pursuers.  A bullet struck the tree beside him a split second after the sound of the shot, and he ducked to the side to avoid the shower of bark and splinters.  Up ahead, he could hear the sound of the small creek that ran through Larabee's property, and he tried to form a picture in his mind of the layout of the land around him.  Truth was, he could count on one hand the number of times he had been out to Larabee's ranch, and most of those had been in the house.  The one time that he had ventured out into the wilds, as he had described it at the time, he had been in the company of Vin Tanner.  They had spent a Saturday afternoon roaming the open fields, Vin on his big black and Ezra on the back of one of the horses that Chris boarded.  While he had found the afternoon surprisingly enjoyable, they had covered a lot of ground, and he had left the navigation up to the tracker, being as he was no woodsman by any stretch of the imagination.  As he raced down the muddy path, he found himself wishing he had paid closer attention to his surroundings during the ride.

           The path turned a corner to run parallel to the water course.  The creek bank lay five feet to his left and another six feet or so down, while the tree-studded slope rose steeply to his right.  He glanced up the slope and noticed the stark-white shell of a lightening struck trunk rising above the other trees at the top of the rise—and a memory niggled at the back of his mind.  He picked up his speed, scanning the hillside as he ran, searching for a particular object, and finally veering suddenly off the path when he found it.  He quickly scrambled up the slippery slope, heedless of the mud that now caked his shoes and the lower half of his pants as he slid to his knees behind the large rock that hung over the path.  He dug around in the soggy soil beside him with his hands, working to unearth one of the smaller stones before hunkering down in his hiding place, trying to catch his breath and get a glimpse of his pursuers.  He strained to hear something, but the roar of the choked stream below drowned out all other sound.

           Finally, the gunman came into view, his gun cocked and ready as he slowly picked his way down the path, searching for a sign of his prey.  Ezra frowned when he saw that the man was alone—where had Vitalis gone?  He had no time to wonder as he flattened himself alongside the rock and squeezed his natural weapon tightly, waiting for the gunman to come closer, to get into position—

           With a rebel yell, Ezra launched himself off the rock and crashed into the gunman, knocking them both to the ground.  The thug dropped the pistol as he hit the mud, sending it skittered off down the path.  The man made it to his feet first, but Ezra swiveled his body around and swept the man's feet out from underneath him.  They both came up together and squared off, Ezra with his rock, and the gunman with a large, knobby branch that he had found.  The man raised the branch over his head and came at the agent with a yell, but Ezra ducked, allowing the weapon to pass over his head and crash into the tree behind him.  He dove forward, wrapping his arms around the man's waist and again slamming him to the ground.  They rolled down the path, getting dangerously close to the bank's edge before crashing into another rock jutting up out of the bank.  The thug kicked free of his assailant and flung a handful of mud up into his face before scrambling to his feet to attack again.  

           Ezra was frantically clawing at his face, trying to clear his eyes, when the other man hit him, sending them both down with a painful thud.  The thug whipped the branch around and gripped it on either side of Ezra's throat, intending to choke him to death with it.  Ezra grasped one-handed at the branch, trying to shove his fingers between the wood and his throat, struggling against his assailant to break free, but the gunman just adjusted his stance to each move his victim made, strengthening his grip as he slowly suffocated the life out of the agent.  As the precious air was squeezed from his lungs, Ezra let go of the branch in one final act of desperation and viciously jabbed his elbow backwards into the gunman's stomach.  The gunman bent forward from the blow, but didn't let go, so Ezra followed that move by quickly hooking his foot behind the man's left heel and jerking forward.  They both tumbled backwards with a crash, the gunman letting go of the branch on his way down.  Ezra landed on top of the man and slammed his head back onto the thug's face, breaking the man's nose in the process before rolling off of him.  

The gunman howled with pain, his hands automatically flying to his face.  He came to his knees with a mighty roar, ready to beat the smaller man before him to a bloody pulp—but Ezra was quicker.  He rolled to his knees one beat ahead of the other man, and swung his fist—the one encasing the rock—as hard as he could, slamming it into the side of the gunman's head.  The man toppled to the ground with a small cry, landing beside the agent and laying still.  Breathing hard, Ezra bent over the fallen man to check for life, holding the bloody rock tightly in case of a surprise attack, but the man was truly down for the count.  The undercover agent let the rock drop to the ground as he sat back with closed eyes, rubbing at his throat, trying to ease his breathing and erase the feel of the branch pressing into his skin.  He struggled to his feet a moment later and used the unconscious man's own belt to bind him securely before digging through his pockets for more ammunition.  He frowned when he only found one clip, but shoved it into his pants pocket anyway as he bent over to pick up the pistol.  He glanced around before climbing up the slope in search of Vitalis.

           He jogged cross country, heading back in the general direction of the ranch, grimacing as he realized just how far he had gone from the house.  All was silent from that direction, and he hoped Alex and Buck were alright.

 A few minutes later, he found himself on the edge of a small open meadow.  He paused beside a tree and searched the dense woodland across the open field intently, trying to catch of glimpse of any danger, when a shot sounded alarmingly nearby.  He dropped to the ground a split second before a bullet clipped the tree trunk right where his head had just been.  He glanced up to catch a glimpse of movement in the trees on the other side of the field before he rolled into a crouch and scuttled deeper into the cover of the forest.  He cautiously worked his way through the trees, heading for the general area that he had last seen his enemy.

A flash of color to his left caught his attention and he snapped off a shot in that direction as he dove to the right behind the cover of a small bush.  A shot was fired in return, proving that he had missed his target.  He moved down the slope, trying to circle around his enemy, straining to hear anything that would reveal the man's location.  _Where is Mr. Tanner when you need him?_ he wondered grimly to himself.

Just as he stepped out from behind a large oak, a bullet struck the tree, and he jerked himself backwards with a grunt.  He pressed his back up against the trunk and flinched as two more shots peppered the foliage around him.  He counted to three then swung out from behind his cover, firing three shots in the opposite direction before flinging himself down behind a fallen log to his right.  Vitalis answered by sending two shots into the decaying mass.

Ezra rolled across the hill a little ways, bullets thunking into the ground behind him, before he came back to his feet, firing at his enemy, and dove behind a rock.  He wound his way around the huge stone and paused for a moment, scanning the hillside behind him while trying to catch his breath.  He quickly ejected the empty clip onto the ground and slammed the full one into place before glancing back up the slope for signs of his opponent.  He grimaced as he realized that by being at the bottom of the small gully, he was at a distinct disadvantage.  

Knowing that he had to move, he scanned the gully floor, looking for the next piece of cover.  He glanced back up the hillside, and then, with a long slow exhale, he pushed away from the rock and leaped toward the root base of the huge, toppled tree several yards away, firing up the slope as he ran.  Bullets zinged around him, but miraculously, he made it to the tree unscathed.  He peered over the tree to see movement up the hill and fired several shots at Vitalis as the man moved to a parallel location further up the slope.

Their deadly game of cat and mouse continued for several minutes, with each pacing the other down the length of the gully, moving from cover to cover while taking potshots at each other, but finally the inevitable happened.  Ezra slid into place over a small knoll into a tightly knit grove of pine trees ahead of a hail of bullets.  He checked the clip in his gun and cursed when he found that he had only one shot left.  He glanced back up the hill, but knew that Tony was in too good of a position.  There was no way to work his way up the hill without having firepower to pin the man down.  Ezra glanced around his protection, hoping for something to reveal itself, when he noticed the small sapling growing just to the left of the entrance.  The grove was a good place of concealment, with the only easy access point being across the small knoll that he had just dove over.  A wild idea hatched in the back of his brain, and he glanced from the tree to the hillside location of Vitalis back to the tree before grinning to himself.  

It was a crazy idea, but it might just work.

Besides, what did he have to lose?

           * * * * * *

Vitalis hunkered down beside the maple tree, his eyes on the pine grove below him.  He had Standish cornered, and he knew it.  It was just a matter of time before he would be able to move in and finish him off.  He grinned maliciously to himself.  

Of course, no one said that Standish had to die quickly.

He had a personal score to settle with the agent who had made him look like a fool in the eyes of his employer, and Tony had every intention of making the man pay, and pay dearly.

He caught sight of movement at the edge of the small bank and frowned slightly to himself.  _What's he up to?_ he wondered.

"Vitalis!" 

The sound of his name echoed through the woods, and Tony couldn't help but flinch at the unexpected sound.  He frowned in confusion.  What did that slippery snake think he was doing?

"Hey, Vitalis!  I'm talking to you!"

"What do you want!"  Tony finally yelled back.

"I have a proposition for you!"

Tony shook his head.  "Like the one you offered my boss back in the hangar?  I know better than that, Standish!  No deal!" he answered brusquely.

"No, this is an offer of a different nature."

           Tony considered the idea for a moment, then shrugged.  The man would be dead soon.  Why not hear him out?  "I'm listening," he called out as he scanned the cove again, trying to see his prey.

           "Have you ever read much of the history of the American western frontier?" came the answer.

           "What?" Now Tony was really confused.  What did history have to do with this situation?  
  


           "I must admit, I have found myself rather fascinated by the whole subject.  Roaming cowboys, fast women, gentleman gamblers, infamous outlaws—the entire era has always been something of a romantic fancy of mine—a bit barbaric and crude, perhaps, but refreshing on the whole.  I do believe I would have rather enjoyed the life of the wondering gambler—no strings, no attachments, no reason to rise at the crack of dawn.  It would be a rather easy life, wouldn't it?"

           "Get on with it!"  Tony growled.  

           "Yes, well, I'm sure that even someone as illiterate as yourself would know the traditional manner of settling disputes in those days," Standish called back.

           "What are you talking about?"  Now Tony was really confused. What was this fool up to?

           "Duals, my man!  Up until modern times, the acceptable method of settling a disagreed was upon the field of honor!  Of course, a southern gentlemen such as myself would prefer it to be performed in a much more refined manner with dualing pistols or swords, seconds, and the entire paraphernalia required for such an act, but seeing as how this is the wild west and not the grand old South, I suppose the deed should be completed in a much more appropriate style, no matter how uncouth it may be."

           "What the h**l are you ranting about?" Tony yelled back in frustration and bewilderment.

           "Shootouts!  Surely you know what that is?  Two men facing off in the dust of the street, high noon, the O.K. Corral?" Standish's answer had a decidedly annoyed tone to it.  "It was the epitome of the wild west, dear sir, right along with the cowboys and Indians!"

           "Y-you're wanting to have a shootout?"  Tony couldn't help but chortle at the thought.  "You're kidding, right?"

           "I'm quite serious.  Consider it a last request, of sorts.  I'm enough of a realist to know that I cannot continue in our little game for much longer.  I'm afraid I'm at a distinct disadvantage and have no hope of competing against you in this arena.  And if I'm to die, I'd much prefer it to be in a blaze of glory."

           Tony shook his head.  Standish was truly insane.  "You missed your chance at the blaze of glory thing.  If you wanted that, you should have stayed in the hangar."

           "Yes, well that was not the 'blaze' that I had in mind."

           Tony snorted.  "Why would I want to do that?  It'd be easier to just wait you out up here."

           "Ah, but surely you realize that Mr. Larabee is on his way.  The longer this game continues the greater the chance of his arrival in time to come to my aid.  I do believe that at that point, you yourself would be quite outnumbered.  And at the very least, this method would prove to be entertaining."

           Vitalis rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  The man had a point.  Larabee was probably on his way here now.  The longer this went on, the greater the chances of getting captured.  And he knew he could take the man.  Besides, he had always dreamed as a boy of riding with Joaquin Murrieta or the James gang.  It could prove to be fun—different at least.  

And who said he had to play fair?  

"Alright, Standish," he called out casually as he discarded the empty clip from his gun.  "I'll give you your shootout."

           In the grove of trees, Ezra leaned back against the bank and closed his eyes in relief.  He wasn't sure if the man would go for it.  "Thank you, Sir," he called out.  "On the count of three, we both are to stand up and fire at one another.  Agreed?"

           Tony slammed the fresh clip home with a snap and grinned to himself.  

If the fool wanted to make it this easy, he'd oblige him.

"Alright.  On three.  One!" he positioned himself more securely behind the tree, making sure that he was concealed from the pine grove.

           "Two!"  He took careful aim at the entrance to the thicket, where he knew Standish would rise.

           Ezra closed his eyes and licked his lips.  This is what he wanted.  Vitalis had fallen for it.  Now was the time to spring the trap.  He tensed, ready to jump up, all the while praying that he had calculated this all right.

           "Three!"

           Tony watched as his prey suddenly showed himself with a wild yell, firing his weapon up the hill.  The bullet struck the tree that Tony was concealed behind, and the gunman smiled evilly to himself as he took careful aim at the man below.  He let out a string of shots and watched in satisfaction as the body jerked backwards and toppled out of sight.

           He waited a few moments for any sign of movement, but seeing nothing, he slowly stood up and made his way down the bank.  He paused at the entrance to the grove, peering into the dark interior, looking for any sign of a trap, but all he could see was the still form lying awkwardly on the bed of pine needles.  He slowly stepped into the grove, keeping his eyes on the body.  

Something wasn't right.  

Wait a minute—where was the blood?    
  


He straightened and pulled the gun up, aiming square at the man's chest—when suddenly, he was attacked by something to the left!

           Ezra lay on the ground, his heart thumping wildly in his chest as he listened to the footsteps of his opponent drawing closer.  He surreptitiously gripped the end of the shoe lace in his hand tighter, willing the other man to step into the right location.  He looked up through slitted eyes as the light was blocked by a large form standing in the entrance.  

Closer……..Closer……..There!  

Ezra let the string go with a snap and watched as it whizzed around the trunk of the larger tree and released the little sapling that it was holding back against the ground.  With a whoosh! the small tree snapped forward, coming at Vitalis from the side.  Just as he had hoped, Tony whirled around to face this side attack, giving him a one-time shot which Ezra took full advantage of.  He launched himself at the other man.

At the same time that Tony realized he was shooting at a tree, he felt the full weight of the agent slam into his back, and they hit the floor of the grove with a muffled grunt.  Tony dropped the gun.  He pushed the other man off of him, and they rolled to their feet with the gun caught between them.  Tony dropped into a crouch and smiled in approval at his enemy.  "Smart, Standish," he applauded.  "Real smart.  I guess you earned your reputation justly."

Ezra dropped into his own crouch and slowly began circling around the gun and his opponent.  "I suppose," he shrugged.

"You know, you got me by surprise back there in the hangar, with that side kick," Tony continued conversationally.  "But this time, I'm ready for you."

"Do tell," Ezra answered coolly.

"Those pretty-boy prep-school moves aren't going to help you now.  I've got some moves of my own, and I didn't learn them in no fancy studio with no fancy sensei," Tony remarked.  "I learned my skills the hard way—on the streets.  It was kill or be killed, and I was determined I was going to be the winner."

"And here you are," Ezra smirked.

"Exactly," Tony smiled.  "I'm going to tear you apart."

Ezra shrugged, offering the man the most smug, infuriating grin in his repertoire—the same grin that was guaranteed to send Larabee over the edge every time.  "Then quit expounding on it and get on with the show," he taunted.

Tony's eyes narrowed, and with a low growl, he lunged at the smaller man.  Ezra sprung at the same time and they met in the middle of the grove in a flurry of kicks and punches, the only sound that of fist and foot against skin and the grunts of the two combatants.  They broke apart a minute later, breathing heavily and eyeing each other warily with more caution.  Viatlis wiped at the blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.  "Good," he nodded decisively.  "You're pretty good, city boy."

Ezra didn't answer, wiping at his bloody nose instead as he kept a steady gaze on the man before him.

Tony rubbed his fingers on his pants before tensing for another spring.  "But I'm better!" he yelled, kicking out at the other man.

Ezra saw it coming and twisted out of the way, swinging his elbow around to slam it in the small of Tony's back.  His only answer was a grunt as the man fell to the ground.  As soon as Tony landed, though, he pivoted on his hands and swept his legs around, knocking Ezra off of his feet.  Ezra quickly rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a vicious kick to his ribs, letting it instead glance off his hip.  They battled fiercely for several minutes, with Ezra holding his own despite the bruises he had sustained from the beating at the house and his battle at the creek, and Vitalis growing angrier by the minute.  Both combatants were well versed in their art, and both were becoming thoroughly exhausted as the battle stretched out.  

Suddenly, Vitalis decided to stack the deck—and pulled out his wicked-looking switchblade, coming at Ezra with a series of blazingly fast slices.  It was all Ezra could do to avoid a serious injury, and he did incur a few superficial cuts on his arms and chest.  He fought desperately to fend the other man off, searching for a chance to turn the tables back into his favor.

Then the inevitable happened, and Tony got in a lucky cut on Ezra's leg, causing it to buckle and sending Ezra crashing to the ground painfully.  Tony stood back, watching in dark satisfaction as his opponent struggled to his knees, clutching at the copiously bleeding wound.  "Well, Standish," he said with a grin, "this has been fun, but now it's time to end this."  He flipped the knife around in his hand, blade down.  "See you in h**l, agent," he sneered; then, with a mighty yell, he rushed at the smaller man, his arm raised, a hint of bloodlust glinting madly in his eyes.

Ezra looked up in time to see blade plunging directly toward his chest!

______________________________________________________________________________________

Yep, just when your heart has finally settled down from the last cliff hanger, I end with another one **grins evilly** I can't help myself!  They're so fun to write!

I know, you can't believe how fast I'm updating this now.  Actually, if things go well, I should be able to finish the rest this week and post the completed story by Friday.  So check back soon for the final 2 chapters!

And, if I haven't said it enough, I have a huge THANK YOU for all those who have taken the time to submit reviews for this, and I'm so glad you like it!  I hope I can wrap it all up well for you.

Concerning the blanked words:

I honestly struggled with that for a while in this, and went back and changed them several times.  I know people cuss in real life (I've been guilty of a word or two in certain rare situations, to my chagrin), and I've had some tell me that they don't automatically assume that the author talks that way just because she writes them in.  I know it won't make me a bad person and I know it's fiction; however, I finally came to the decision to blank them out because that was the way I felt most comfortable with.  For one thing, I realized that I'd be highly embarrassed if certain people read the story with the cuss words written in, and I would have felt a bit ashamed because of it—for example:  I'd have never wanted my mother to read it that way—if I ever decide to let her read it.  I'm still thinking on that one.  Right now, she doesn't even know I've written it. As for lord and hell, well, I was raised in a family where you don't use any reference to God as a swear word and it's part of my personal convictions not to.  Hell's not too bad, either, in my opinion, but again, it goes back to would I want certain people that I respect thinking that I talked that way?  And besides, I don't like hearing the words myself, nor reading them, especially when there's as many in a story as wound up in this fic.

As for it being better to leave them out than blank them, well, I don't feel that the boys would have reacted to the situations without a few choice words, and for me, they wouldn't have felt as smooth and in character as they do now.  I've seen stories that had them using mild forms such as darn, and no offense to those writers, but that was a bit off to me.  I agree that I probably should have just left them out, but that's how this fic flowed and I just don't think it would feel right to change it all now.  Future fics won't have as much language (hopefully!)  

So, to appease my conscience but at the same time, to keep the guys as men and in character as this particular story dictated, I compromised and blanked the words.  I realize that it can be jarring, and I apologize, but that's the method that works best for me.  If I were submitting this for publication, of course I would write them in or remove them completely, but as it is an amateur attempt at fan fiction, where things are a bit more relaxed, I have opted to do it this way.  I have read others stories that do the same and it didn't really bother me too bad.  I know that we all know what the words are, but like I said, it was a question of morals for me.  I do thank you for mentioning it, and I have honestly considered your suggestion, but I think that it will stand as I have it now.  I'm sorry if that makes it more difficult for you as a reader.  

I do hope you can still enjoy the story, though!  


	21. Damsel in Distress

ONE brief note I want to make before I go any further:  I've never been to Colorado.  Shoot, I've never been further west than Indianapolis!  I grew up in the Appalachian Mountains, so all the whole gully/forest descriptions are based on the lay of the land in this part of the country.  I don't know, really, what the scenery looks like in the surrounding areas of Denver, or what is indigenous (big, word, huh?) to that area, so I'm just using what I'm familiar with.  I tried to look up pictures and such on the internet, but didn't have much success.  Anyway, just please keep an open mind about the whole thing.  It is fiction, after all….

_________________________________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 21 

           Time seemed to freeze in that instant.

The sounds of the wind through the trees, the gunshots in the distance, Vitalis's mighty yell, even his own harsh breathing—it all faded into the background for the agent as his world narrowed down to the glint off the shiny blade sweeping for his chest.  In an act of pure desperation, Ezra threw himself bodily at Vitalis's legs as the man stepped in to deal the death blow, forcing Tony to jump up to avoid being knocked to the ground and giving Ezra one precious opening.  He rolled underneath the thug and grasped for his salvation even as the other man whirled around, arm pivoted to throw the knife.  Ezra stopped on his right side and flung his left arm up, firing the pistol on blind instinct.

He watched, as if in slow motion, the bullet slammed into Vitalis's chest, dead center into the man's heart.  Tony stumbled backwards a little from the force, but stayed on his feet and looked down at his chest in shock.  He dropped the knife to the ground, reaching instead to finger the steadily growing dark stain on his front, and looked up at Ezra, his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes wide with surprise.  He took one step forward before his legs gave out, taking him to the ground where he landed with a bone-jarring thud and rolled onto his back, his slack features and lifeless eyes raised emptily towards the sky.

Ezra slumped back to the ground in relief and laid his arm over his eyes as he took deep breaths, trying to expel the adrenaline from his system and gain control over the tremors that came with the realization of how close he had just come to death.  After a moment, he pushed himself up into a sitting position with a groan and pulled the damaged leg up for inspection.  

It hurt like h**l, but after a few moments of applied pressure, he could see that it was slowly starting to clot.  He ripped the bottom of his shirt off and secured it around the wound as a makeshift bandage before climbing stiff-leggedly to his feet and crossing over to the body.  The other cuts he had sustained on his arms and upper body were shallow and thus inconsequential in his estimation.  He reached down for the knife with a grimace and snapped it shut before slipping it into his pocket.  He quickly re-supplied himself with ammunition from Vitalis's pockets then stood back up, reloading the pistol as he limped out of the grove.  He paused at the entrance, looking back at the still form staring sightlessly at the canopy above, and closed his eyes for a moment as a feeling of regret washed over him.

Even though he had been in this business for what seemed to be a lifetime to him, and even though he was willing to and had used a weapon against another countless times during his career, he never enjoyed the taking of another human being's life, no matter how necessary the action was.   In fact, he welcomed the regret each time it came, seeing it as proof to himself that he was still human, that he was still Ezra Standish on the inside.

As far as he was concerned, the day he lost that regret was the day he hung up his guns and walked away.

Shots from the direction of the ranch house pulled his attention away from the body and he began trotting in that direction as fast as he could, dread and determination filling him as he silently prayed that those left behind were alright.

* * * * * * *

           Alex silently ghosted her way through the trees, trying to circle around back to the house to get help.  If she had known the area better, she would have risked going cross-country to the nearest neighbor, but since she had no idea what direction to head in, she settled for the riskier option.  She wanted a chance to call Larabee, check on Buck and Eddie, and get a weapon, all in that order.  Back behind her, she could hear her pursuers searching for a sign of her, and she quickened her pace.

           She came out onto the graveled driveway a few minutes later, about a half mile from the main house.  As she stepped out onto the drive, muddy tire prints leading off the gravel onto a run-down dirt road that disappeared into the trees caught her attention and she followed them, being careful to stay out of sight.  Just as she turned the bend in the road, three vehicles—two luxury cars and one beat-up old escort—came into view.  She immediately realized who the cars belonged to and wasted no time in digging her pocket knife out and slashing the tires before she again slipped into the forest, a faint smile on her lips.

           That put three escape routes for the bad guys out of play, and she figured that if she could disable the remaining three vehicles belonging to Buck and the federal agents who had been on guard, then Bartinol and Randolph would have no way to escape.  Then all she and Ezra would have to do was survive long enough until the cavalry arrived.

           Piece of cake, right?

* * * * * * *

           Bartinol worked his way through the dense forest, his pistol in hand, looking for any sign of the girl.  His man was somewhere up ahead while Randolph trailed behind, a disgusted look on his face as he picked through the mud gingerly, grimacing at the damage being done to his Italian loafers and more importantly, at the damage said loafers were doing to his feet.

           He hated the outdoors.

Bartinol glanced back at the man and shook his head in annoyance before he stepped out onto the graveled driveway.  Randolph came up behind him as the gunman jogged up from where the dirt pathway ended further down the road.  "Well?"  Randolph asked impatiently.  "Any sign of her?"

           "I think she's cutting back, sir," the man answered, glancing at the other crime lord before turning his attention back to Bartinol.  "She found the cars.  All the tires are slashed."

           "D**n!"  Randolph cursed.  He turned to Bartinol with a slight sneer on his lips.  "Now how do you propose we escape from here?"

           Bartinol frowned at the crime lord, his disproval obvious.  "We use the vehicles left by the agents, sir," he answered, his tone one of barely concealed irritation.  "That is, if we can get to them before the girl does."  He turned to his lackey.  "Follow the dirt road back to the ranch—Mr. Randolph and I will proceed up the driveway.  We'll catch her between us."

           The gunman nodded and headed off into the woods while Bartinol set a quick pace up the driveway.  Randolph growled under his breath in frustration before following the other man, vowing vengeance on the ones responsible for his misery.

* * * * * * *

Alex made her way to the three vehicles hidden at the edge of the paddock a few hundred yards behind the barn, trying to erase the images of the grisly scene she had just stumbled upon from her mind.  She had wondered what had become of the four guards who were supposed to have been on watch outside, and had gotten her answer as she exited the woods that lined the small field behind the barn.  The first body had been sprawled not far from the road in the grass, a nasty stab wound in its back, its throat slit from ear to ear and a horrid look of ghastly surprise on its face.  She didn't scream, but she did turn her head quickly as she made her way around it, making a mental note of its exact location and wishing she had been able to at least give the poor man the respect of being covered from the elements.

           The second body was lying beside the first car, the cold remains of a half-burned cigarette lying next to the nearly severed head.  Bile rose into her throat at the sight of that one, but she swallowed it back down and turned her attention to the task at hand, hoping that she didn't find the other two.  Though she had seen death in many gruesome forms during her tenure on the streets of some of America's largest cities, the sight of it still bothered her greatly.  Many who ended up on the streets became hardened to death in all it forms, but street life, while forcing her to become resilient against life's harshest injustices, had not hardened her heart.  Indeed, if anything, life to her had become something quite precious, and the blatant waste of it was still something that grieved her deeply.

           She quickly pulled her knife back out and slashed the tires of the two government vehicles, but when she got to Buck's truck, she paused, realizing that she, Ezra, and the others might need transportation off the ranch.  Instead, she took the time to pop the hood of the old truck and pull one of the distributor wires from the motor.  Just as the wire came loose in her hand, a bullet pinged off the raised hood right beside her head.  She turned to see the gunman running towards her across the field and immediately took off in the opposite direction, heading for the house.  She vaulted over the low rail fence with cat-like grace and hit the ground on the opposite side running, but was forced to change direction again when a shout from the front alerted her to Bartinol and Randolph's approach.

           "There she is!" Randolph yelled unnecessarily as he watched the girl duck out of sight behind the tool shed.

           "She's gotten to the other vehicles!"  Bartinol pointed out.

           Randolph answered with a curse as they headed toward the small building, intent on catching their prey between themselves and the gunman.  As they reached the building, Bartinol motioned for Randolph to head around the barn and approach her from that direction, thus cutting off that means of escape as well. 

           Alex ripped the door to the shed open, frantically searching for anything she could use as a weapon.  Spying the snow shovel propped up against the wall just inside the door, she grabbed it up and ducked back outside, hunkering down between the side of the building and the large barrel filled with used motor oil just as the gunman rounded the corner.  She watched as he approached the door cautiously, his gun cocked and ready to fire.  As soon as he stepped over the threshold of the door to search the interior, she jumped up and with a mighty swing, brought the shovel down on the man's head.

           The man dropped to the ground like a ton of bricks, his gun discharging harmlessly into the ceiling.

           Barely taking the time to ensure that the man was indeed unconscious, Alex dropped the shovel and sprinted to the barn, ducking at the entrance as Bartinol rounded the corner of the shed and let off a shot in her direction.

           Just as she made it into the murky interior, the sound of sirens in the distance reached her ears, and she nearly dropped to the floor in relief.  She realized that someone—either Ezra or Buck or even Eddie—had been able to get a call out.

           Help was on its way.

           Now, if she could just survive the next five minutes….

           The sirens reached Bartinol's ears as well and he paused at the side of the shed.  A frown creased his face as he glanced from the driveway to the barn and back again.  Realizing that his window of opportunity for escape was quickly closing, he made his decision and raced across the paddock, slipping across the fence to head for the trees beyond.  He paused at the tree line and looked back toward the ranch house and barn, a slight smile on his features.  "You are indeed worthy opponents, Miss Sanders, Agent Standish," he whispered to himself.  "Until we meet again."  He tipped the barrel of his pistol to his forehead in a salute before he disappeared into the forest.

           As he reached the opposite side of the barn, the sound of the sirens reached Randolph as well and he cursed to himself bitterly, realizing that his arrest was imminent.  His eyes narrowed and he entered the building, determination in his step.  "If I am to go down, then I am taking at least one of you with me," he vowed to himself as he quietly worked his way toward the front entrance of the building, stalking one of the causes of his downfall.

* * * * * * *

Ezra burst through the backdoor of the house only to pull up short at the sight of the gun leveled in his direction.  "Whoa, Mr. Wilmington!  It's just me!" he protested, raising his hands in the air.

Buck slumped back against the wall with a sigh and lowered the weapon.  "That's a fine way to get your fool head blown off, Hoss," he smirked, a relieved grin coming unbidden to his lips.

Ezra just shook his head as he knelt down beside his teammate and reached for his head.  "It is indeed fortuitous that you are still among the living," he observed as he poked at the cut.

Buck hissed at the probing and pulled away but turned a huge, mischievous grin towards the other man.

"Does that mean you was worried about me?" he asked in good humor.

           Ezra rolled his eyes and sat back on his heels.  "Actually, I was thinking about the thirty dollars you owe me from last month's poker game," he quipped, a bemused expression on his face.  His features turned serious.  "Are you feeling alright?"

           Buck nodded.  "A bit dizzy and sick to my stomach, but I've felt worse after a tag-football game with JD," he reassured his friend.  He gestured to the makeshift bandage on Ezra's leg and the cut on his face as he leaned over to check on Eddie.  "What about you?"

           Ezra fingered the swollen but non-bleeding gash on his face and shrugged off Buck's concern.  "A mere scratch.  How is agent Thomas?"

           Buck glanced back up and shook his head, his mouth dropping into a grim line.  "Not good.   Chris and the other's better get here soon."

           Ezra met his gaze, a hopeful glint in his eyes.  "You contacted them, then?"

           "Yep," Buck smiled.  "They should be here any minute."

           Ezra slumped back and let out a sigh of relief.  "In the words of our notable Mr. Sanchez, 'Thank the Lord!'"

           Buck nodded in agreement then frowned as he realized one of their number was missing.  "Where's the girl?" he asked apprehensively.

           "I'm not sure," Ezra answered with a worried frown of his own.  "I'm afraid I lost track of her during my jaunt through the woods and subsequent showdown with Mr. Vitalis."  He stood to his feet.  "But I am assuming that wherever she is, Mr. Bartinol and Randolph are on her heels."

            "Well, let's go out and look for her," Buck exclaimed as he climbed to his feet only to sway dangerously as the world tilted on him.  "Whoa," he groaned, slumping back to the ground and closing his eyes, swallowing against the nausea that welled up from his stomach.

           Ezra started forward to check on him, an admonishment on his lips, but an echoing shot from alarmingly nearby caused him to pause and glance toward the living room windows at the barn beyond before exchanging a worried look with the big man.  "Stay here," he ordered when Buck made to climb to his feet.  "Buck, I mean it!"  He snapped with a warning glare before he slipped out the door and sprinted around the corner of the house, heading toward the barn with his pistol in hand.

           Buck hit his fist against the floor in frustration at his weakness and looked out the window in worry.  "Hurry, Chris," he whispered, even as he heard the sirens approaching.

* * * * * * *

           Horses had been a passion that Chris and Sarah had both shared, and they had worked hard to build their business and reputations as horse breeders.  Sarah had devoted herself full-time to the enterprise, putting her college degrees in business and equine studies to good use while Chris split his time between the ranch and the police force and Buck chipped in wholeheartedly wherever he was needed. It had been a life and an occupation that they had both loved, and the ranch had shown it.  The horse barn was huge and well-built with a large area on the left lined with stalls for the animals, a well-equipped tack room, and a small, one room apartment that they had used during foaling time.  They had added an indoor training arena to the right side of the building about a year after Adam's birth.  The arena was separated from the main structure by the tack room and the apartment, but connected to it by another aisle running lengthwise through the middle of the building.  A large hayloft extended the length of the original structure overhead.

           After the deaths of his family, Chris's love for the ranch had also died—or at least, had been buried deep under the grief.  He had sold off most of his stock and had let the place go while he plunged into the bottle, trying to drown the painful memories.  Indeed, by the time he finally surfaced from his drunken haze a year later, the ranch would have been in sad disrepair if it hadn't been for Buck.  Buck had worked tirelessly to keep the buildings in good shape, the fences mended, and the closer pastures clear, perhaps using the work as a way to deal with his own grief and guilt while he strove to pull his friend back from the edge.  Once Chris had sobered up, Buck talked him into taking on a few boarders and hiring a couple of the neighbor kids to help care for them.  Working with the horses seemed to be a sort of balm to Chris's spirit, a small, calm shelter in the midst of the dark, raging storm that filled him.  Vin Tanner also held a great love for horses, and as his friendship deepened with the outdoorsman, Chris's passion for the beasts slowly rekindled and grew into a small flame, serving as a place of common ground between them as they worked together to train and care for the animals.

Chris had taken advantage of the warm spell and had turned the horses out into the pasture, leaving the barn empty.  Alex made her way down the stall aisle of the barn, looking desperately around for some kind of weapon.  She glanced briefly at the ladder leading to the hay loft, but dismissed it, realizing that to climb up there would only serve to entrap herself for the enemy.  As she passed by the aisle leading to the arena, a shot suddenly sounded nearby and a bullet buried itself in the post beside her.  She caught a glimpse of Randolph standing in the arena with his gun aimed right at her as she made a desperate dive for the shelter of the tack room, another bullet following close behind her.  She slid down behind a saddle bench, her heart pounding in her chest while she searched frantically for a way to protect herself.

           The sirens in the distance grew closer.

           Randolph worked his way to the tack room doorway and paused outside the entrance.  He glanced inside and, seeing that there was no other way out, grinned wickedly to himself.  "Well, well, well," he said conversationally as he checked the loads in his gun, "it seems that our little game of chase is about to come to an end."

           Alex leaned back against the bench and squeezed her eyes shut tight as she gulped hard to try to steady her breathing, fear pumping icy adrenaline through her veins.  "Larabee and his men are going to be here any minute," she called out, sounding much braver than she was actually feeling.  "It's over, Randolph.  You've lost.  Why don't you give yourself up?"

           Randolph nodded.  "Yes, it does indeed seem that I've been dealt a losing hand in this game, thanks to you and Agent Standish.  All those years of hard work, lost in a single blow," he sighed loudly as he glanced back into the room, trying to get an idea of where she was hiding.  "I realized that you were the one who must have taken those ledgers from the hangar, you know," he continued.  "And I also realized that you must have witnessed the demise of Mr. Banning as well. That does indeed make you quite the liability."

           "Well, it seemed to be a good idea at the time," she muttered as she pulled herself back against the wall in a tighter crouch and scanned the room one more time.  Her gaze landed on an old dust-covered bridle lying on the bottom of the shelf behind her, and she grabbed it up.

           It was better than nothing.

           Randolph narrowed his eyes.  "My business is destroyed, my life is destroyed, and my carefully constructed reputation will soon fall to the dust."  He stepped slowly into the room.  "And now, I'm about to face arrest and imprisonment, all due to the over-zealousness of a cocky, arrogant reject from the FBI and the interference of a street kid."

"Glad I could help," Alex quipped as she clutched the bridle tightly and glanced up at the ceiling for a moment, sending a desperate prayer skyward and readying herself for a desperate spring.

The sirens' incessant wail grew ever closer, the sounds of the whining engines of the vehicles now reaching their ears as the Ram and its entourage barreled up the long driveway to screech to a stop in front of the house.

Randolph zeroed in on the saddle bench and cocked his pistol.  "I may be going down," he growled, "but at least I will have my revenge on you before I go.  And as for Agent Standish, if Tony hasn't already dispensed of him—well, I should have plenty of time to plan a suitable demise for him in the future."  He turned the corner of the bench and grinned evilly down on the girl crouched in the corner, her face pale and her eyes wide as she looked up at him.  He leveled the gun at her face, his smile turning feral.  "Goodbye, Miss Sanders."

Suddenly, with a wild yell, the girl sprang to life.  She swung the bridle with all her might right at his face and shoved him backwards across a stool, slamming his gun arm up and back.  The gun discharged harmlessly into the ceiling as she pushed by him on a mad dash for the doorway, but Randolph managed to roll to one knee and get off another shot at her just as she reached the opening.  The bullet punched through her right arm, spraying blood down the side of her t-shirt and throwing her step off.  A pain-filled gasp escaped her lips as she stumbled to one knee, clutching at the wounded arm tightly, but she managed to get to her feet and stumble back down the aisle, the adrenaline rushing through her veins giving her the added strength.

Randolph came out of the tack room and fired another shot at her, forcing her to duck into one of the empty stalls.  She fell to her good hand and knees, clutching the injured arm tightly to her body as she pulled herself towards the back wall through the hay and huddled in the corner.  She turned toward the man who hunted her as his shadow fell across her face and looked up into his cold eyes with a courage born of the certain knowledge that she was about to die, her teeth gritted against her pain and her blue eyes flashing with anger.  Randolph smiled down at her and brought his pistol to bear, aiming directly between her eyes.  She watched, mesmerized, as the trigger was slowly depressed, the hammer sliding slowly back—

The shots resounded through the barn like a thunder clap, echoing across the fields and through the trees with an eerie finality, and Alex slammed back against the wall, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.  It took a moment for it to register that she hadn't been further harmed.  At that realization, she slowly opened one eye, then the other, looking down at her chest before glancing back up towards the opening.  Randolph lay on the pavement, a red stain on his chest slowly growing in size as he moaned once before falling completely still.

As she tried to figure out what had just happened, another shadow crept down the aisle towards the body.  She couldn't stop the peep from escaping her lips nor the flinch from shuddering through her body as a man suddenly stepped into view and kicked Randolph's gun well away from his bloody, bullet-pierced hand before turning to face her.  She found herself looking up into the mud-smudged features of Ezra Standish and slumped against the wall in relief.  He noticed the blood on her arm and slipped into the stall to kneel beside her, reaching for the wounded appendage.  "Are you alright, my dear?" he asked as he poked at the hole.  He grinned slightly at her sudden intake of breath.

"Never better," she muttered through clenched teeth.  She glanced up into his face, a mischievous light entering her eyes.  "What took you so long?"

Ezra paused a moment, then returned her smile with a large one of his own.  "My little jaunt through the forest with Mr. Vitalis and his guard took a bit longer than I expected," he answered glibly as he turned her arm in search of the exit hole.  He nodded to himself when he found it.

"Enjoy yourself?" she quipped even as another hiss escaped her lips.

TV never let on how much this hurt!

Ezra raised an eyebrow at her before reaching down to rip another section off the bottom of his shirt.  "Hardly," he grumbled good-naturedly as he wadded the cloth up and pressing it tightly against her arm.  "My hundred and twenty dollar oxfords are ruined, let alone this shirt and these pants, what with all these rips and tears in them.  And all of this mud will never come out."

"Not to mention the blood stains," she observed dryly, taking notice of the bandage around his leg as she reached up to take the compress.  She motioned toward the wound with her free hand.  "Are _you_ all right?"

He dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand as he settled back against the wall of the stall beside her.  "It's nothing." 

"Uh-huh," she snorted, but let it pass.  Something in his hair caught her attention and she reached up with a chuckle, pulling down a clump of mud and a twig off of a pine tree.  "You're beginning to look like a regular Daniel Boone," she giggled.

He took the twig from her with a frown and ran his hands through his hair, trying to dislodge the rest of the mud.  "Heaven forbid," he groused.  "I was meant for much better."  He sat back with a sigh.  "Nothing would make me happier right now than a long, hot soak in a Jacuzzi, clean clothes, and a nice long nap."

"Can't argue with you there," she agreed.  She leaned back as well and closed her eyes.  "What happened to the guard and Vitalis?"

"The guard is tied up somewhere down the trail.  Vitalis is dead," he answered quietly.

Alex cracked one eye open to look at him in concern then turned her gaze away.  "So much death," she sighed, shaking her head morosely, remembering the dead guards she had stumbled upon.

Ezra glanced over at her and patted her on the shoulder.  "Yes, but our efforts here today will ensure that these villains no longer harm anyone else.  And that," he said as he chucked her chin slightly and smiled at her, "you can take satisfaction in.  It may not be much when one looks at the entire deplorable picture, but every little bit helps."

She returned his smile with one of her own, but before she could comment, the sound of footsteps running down the aisle caught their attention.  Ezra was up on his knee in an instant, the gun aimed for the stall entrance, but he lowered his arm as the worried features of Vin Tanner came into view.  "You guys alright in there?" the tracker asked with a huff, his breath coming in gasps after his mad dash toward the barn and the source of the gunshots that he had heard.

           "Fine, fine," Ezra answered as he struggled to his feet and reached down to give Alex some help getting up, keeping his hand on her shoulder to steady her as they stepped out of the stall.  "Mr. Tanner," he smiled at the sharpshooter brightly, "I must say your timing is impeccable."

           Vin just shrugged with a grin as he knelt down to check on Randolph.  "Shoot, Ez, you guys done had all the fun.  All you left us was the clean up detail." He felt for the man's pulse then nodded as he climbed back to his feet.  "He's still alive," he assured them.  He motioned to the small hole that pierced Randolph's wrist as well as the one in the man's lower right chest, realizing that Ezra must have shot the gun out of the man's grasp a second before adjusting his aim to take the shot that put the man out of action.  "Nice shooting, Pard," he commented as he led them back outside to the controlled chaos that was now Larabee's front yard.

           Ezra shook his head.  "Deplorable," he disagreed.  "I was aiming for his heart, but he moved at the last second."

           Vin shook his head with a laugh before calling for medical aid for the wounded man inside and jogging off to report to Larabee.

           As they limped down to the ambulance, Alex glanced over at her companion with a slight smile hovering at the corners of her mouth.  "I told you so," she commented casually, a twinkle gleaming in her eye as she carefully picked her way across the graveled expanse, her injured arm held tightly against her body and the bloody compress pressed firmly against the wound.

           "Excuse me?" Ezra asked in confusion, side-stepping to avoid the agents headed for the barn, grimacing slightly as his wounded leg protested the movement.

           "You saved my life back there.  I told you that you would get your chance," she answered knowingly.

           He guided her to the waiting hands of a paramedic and smiled in amusement.  "That you did, my dear, that you did."

           "So, does that mean we're friends?" she asked as she settled on the bumper of the ambulance to allow the medic room to work.

           Ezra leaned back on the side of the vehicle and laughed.  "Indubitably."

           She looked back up at him and grinned.  "Good."

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Well, folks, it's been a nice, long ride, and we're nearly there.  1 chapter left to go.  I've got to tie up all those loose ends, ya know, and I'm sure some of you're dying to know what I decide to do with Ally : )  I promise, the next chapter will be following shortly.

So, what did you think?  Was that what you were expecting?  Was the action heart-stopping enough for you?  And what do you think will happen to Ally?  Stay tuned to find out!


	22. Tying Things Up

         CHAPTER 22 

           Ezra sat sideways at his desk, staring out the window behind him and absentmindedly tapping his pen against his lips as he listened to the bickering between Buck and JD over what to have for dinner.  Outside, fat snowflakes drifted lazily down from the sky, coating the building tops and the street below in a brilliant blanket of white that shimmered in the fading sunlight of the late afternoon.  The warm spell of the week before had ended the night of the arrests, enveloping the region once again in frigid temperatures and the powdery white fluff that marked this time of year.  He watched the rush-hour traffic snarled to a standstill and shook his head, knowing that in about twenty minutes, he would be in the midst of it.  Across the aisle from him, Vin sat in front of his computer, typing slowly and diligently at some report.  He seemed totally engrossed in his work, but the slight smirk on his lips and the quick glance up at some outrageous comment from Buck gave him away.  He met Ezra's eyes and the smile grew larger as he turned back to his screen.

           Nathan sat at his desk, flipping through a manual of some kind, and Josiah sat in front of his computer, staring intently at his monitor.  However, when Ezra looked over at the screen, he wasn't so sure that whatever Josiah was doing was work-related; in fact, it looked suspiciously like some sort of online novel.  

Buck sat on his desk, the phone glued to his ear and the cord twisted around his fingers, a big, goofy grin on his face as he waited for the connection, intent on cementing his plans for his evening date with one of the secretaries from downstairs.  With the other hand, he was flicking little pieces of paper across the room at his surrogate brother, peppering JD's hair with the spit wads.  JD, meanwhile, was busily navigating a Porsche roadster down a mountain highway at incredibly foolish speeds while trying to outrun several souped-up police cruisers on his computer screen.  He periodically shook his head to dislodge the paper pieces and shoot quick scathing glares over at his roommate. Buck only grinned larger, especially when one particularly large piece managed to get stuck in the boy's ear.  "D**n-it, Buck!" JD growled as he quickly swiped at his ear, trying to remove the paper without crashing his little two dimensional car.

           Buck picked up another piece, ready to launch it in the same direction as its forbearers, but dropped it quickly as the lady in question answered the phone.  He sat up straighter and smiled one of his classic grins.  "Sandy!" he crooned in his most charming voice.  "It's your Old Buck.  We still on for tonight?"

           Ezra's smirk grew as he leaned back in his chair and once again turned his attention to the outside world.

           It was just another typical team seven Friday afternoon at work.

           "Hey, Ez," Vin asked quietly, keeping his attention on the screen in front of him as he tried to appear nonchalant.  "You meeting us at the Saloon tonight, right?" 

           Ezra looked up at the sharpshooter and raised an eyebrow at the poorly concealed look of hope in the man's eyes.  "I believe I could be persuaded," he answered casually.

           Vin paused in his typing and glanced over at him, trying to judge his sincerity, then smiled slightly.  "See ya at six, then."

           Ezra just chuckled to himself as he reluctantly turned back to his own report on recent events.  

It had been exactly one week since the attack at the ranch house and the subsequent arrest of Paul Randolph.  The days following had been busy, to say the least.  Buck had spent a night in the hospital under observation for the "little bump" on the head that he had received, and he now sported a large white bandage on his forehead.  Of course, with Buck, that bandage became a pick-up line, earning him plenty of sympathy from the female species.  Ezra had avoided a hospital stay himself, but the cut on his face had to be taped closed, and he had received ten stitches in his leg along with strict orders to stay off of it. 

The days following the arrests had been filled with reports and meetings, keeping the entire team busy with the follow up on the case.  Ezra was looking forward to the weekend and a few days of peace and quiet.  He had yet to really get some down-time from the case.  He was now trying to put the finishing touches on the latest report, but just could not seem to pay attention to what he was reading.  His gaze kept straying to the window and the beautiful wintry scene backlit by the fading light with its purple shadows on the mountains in the distance.  The view reminded him of an earlier sunset, and he found himself wondering about his former companion.

At the hospital, Alex had been whisked away to another area under the close guard of her uncle, and Ezra hadn't seen her since.  He knew she had spent a night in the hospital herself, but that the wound had been deemed minor.  After that, he didn't know where she had gone.  "Probably under tight protection," he thought to himself and frowned slightly.  The thought of the free-spirited girl being caged in by those in authority just didn't seem right to him.  Valuing his freedom and independence as highly as he did, he could easily imagine what the loss of control over her own life would seem like to the girl and he felt a pang of sympathy for her.

His thoughts were interrupted by his boss as Chris abruptly opened his office door and stepped into the outer room, drawing the attention of his men.  Buck quickly ended his call, Nathan closed his books, JD immediately ended his game, which Chris pretended not to see, and everyone else looked up from their own chores expectantly.  "The judge wants us upstairs for a conference about the case," he announced gruffly and braced himself for the protests he knew was coming.  

Buck didn't disappoint him.  "Awe, come on, Chris," he whined pitifully, "it's almost quitting time.  A conference now with the judge and the fibs would last forever!  I've got a date all set up for tonight with Sandy, and I need to get home to get ready!"

Chris just stared at him, an amused glint coloring his eyes.  "Sorry, Buck," he shrugged.  "You're not getting out of it."  He held up a hand to halt any further protests.  "The judge wants us all.  Now."  He pointed toward the doorway, his tone brooking no argument.  

Buck grumbled under his breath but followed JD, Nathan, and Josiah out the door, and Chris smirked to himself in triumph before turning toward his undercover agent.  "That means this minute, Ezra" he said sternly, "Not next Christmas."

Ezra smiled pleasantly up at his boss.  "Of course, Mr. Larabee.  I shall arrive with all due haste, barring the technicalities of saving my work and the difficulties brought on by my wounded appendage."  He motioned toward his leg.

Chris rolled his eyes with a snort and exchanged a rueful glance with the sharpshooter.  "Get him upstairs as fast as you can," he sighed aloud before following the others out the door.

Ezra shook his head and stood up to clear off his desk, save his files, turn off the computer, and dump his papers into his briefcase.  "Shall we, Mr. Tanner?" he asked as he shut the case with a click.

Vin smiled and held out the mahogany, gold-tipped cane that had been leaning against Ezra's trashcan to his partner without a word, and Ezra grimaced.  Though he was able to get around fairly well without it, Nathan had insisted that he use it for at least a week.  Ezra had been becoming increasingly creative in coming up with excuses for 'forgetting' it as that week wore on.  He hated its inconvenience and more importantly, its visible reminder of weakness, however slight. "I don't suppose we could conveniently misplace that loathsome object, could we?" he asked hopefully.

Vin just shook his head with a smirk.  "Ya don't want Nathan breathing down your neck, do ya?"

Ezra sighed then grudgingly reached for the stick with an expression of distaste.  "No, we certainly do not.  Mr. Jackson can be quite overbearing when it comes to our health, and I do not relish the thought of his 'death' glares boring into the side of my head from across the table all night.  I do declare, but the man can be more tenacious than a pit bull with a fresh bone," he complained as they crossed the room and headed out the door.  "Really.  We are grown men, after all, and perfectly capable of taking care of our own needs.  We have no need of a nurse-maid watching our every move."

Vin laughed and clapped him on the shoulder as they stopped to wait on the elevator.  "You're just pissed because he camped out at your place this week to make sure you took your meds and kept off that leg," he teased.

Ezra grimaced.  "I do not find the situation a laughing matter, Mr. Tanner."

"Sure it is, Ez," Vin grinned as the bell dinged to announce the arrival of the elevator.

The doors opened with a whoosh and Ezra stepped inside, punching the button for the upper floor before stepping back to allow the sharpshooter access.  "Then I shall remind you of that fact the next time you find yourself among the injured," he shot back.

Vin opened his mouth to make another smart comment but paused as he remembered the last time he himself had been injured.  He shook his head.  "You're right. It ain't funny," he agreed, taking his place beside the man as the doors shut.  He shot his companion a devilish grin.  "But it sure is entertainin' when it's someone else he's hounding."

Ezra just shook his head with a smile as the carriage began to rise.  A few seconds later, a small ping announced their arrival and they stepped off the machine just in time to see the doors of the other one open, bringing them face to face with the three occupants—District Attorney Michael Harrison, Timothy Johnson, and Alexandria Sanders.  "Ah, Miss Sanders!"  Ezra exclaimed with a bright smile, "I was just wondering how you were fairing."

Alex looked up with a shy smile as she stepped off the elevator and absently fingered the blue sling she wore.  She was dressed in what were obviously new jeans, new tennis shoes, and a new light green pullover sweater, but Ezra noted that the old, faded blue jean jacket was still in place.  "I'm doing much better, thank you," she answered quietly.  "And yourself?"

"Fine, fine," he waved his hand in dismissal.  "Nothing whatsoever to worry about."  His smile faltered a bit as Vin snorted in disbelief beside him, and he sent a quick glare in the offender's direction.

Alex raised her eyebrows with a sage nod before motioning at the cane he held loosely.  "So that's simply for ornamental purposes?" she asked blandly.

"More for the appeasement of certain, _bothersome_ coworkers, nothing more," Ezra answered with another glare at Vin as he heard another snort from the sharpshooter's direction.

"Ah," the girl nodded again, only partially managing to conceal the smile that threatened her mouth and completely failing to keep the sparkle out of her eyes.

"Well, gentlemen, as Mr. Johnson and Miss Sanders have a plane to catch in a few hours, we really should continue this in the judges quarters," Harrison prodded impatiently as he glanced at his watch.

"Certainly, certainly," Ezra agreed, offering his free arm to the young lady as an escort as the others turned down the hall. 

 Alex took his arm shyly, but instead of following the others, she held her ground.  "Would you mind showing me where the restroom is?" she asked him softly.

"Of course not, my dear," he answered and turned to lead her the opposite way.  He paused in mid-step, though, as he noticed Johnson following them and raised a questioning eyebrow at the older man.

"I'll be alright, Uncle," Alex turned to meet the man with exaggerated patience.  "We are, after all, in the federal building.  I'm sure Mr. Standish is capable of taking care of me, even if he's winged himself."  Her eyes twinkled with hidden mirth and she broke out into a genuine smile at Ezra's huff of protest.  "I'm a big girl now.  I can take care of myself.  And I certainly don't want you to hold my hand!" 

Johnson reddened a bit at being caught out and squared his shoulders irritably.  "I'm sorry if I seem to be smothering you, Alexandria," he answered, the use of her full name and the sharpness of his tone revealing his frustration, "but I only want you to be safe, especially after all that has happened—"

"And I am safe," she interrupted him, placing a light hand on his arm.  "Thanks to you, Mr. Standish, his coworkers, and a whole lot of other people."  She gave him a gentle shove toward the judge's offices.  "Now.  You've got a meeting to get to.  You know Mr. Harrison wasn't happy with the arrangements you finally agreed on this morning, and if you don't hurry up and get in there, he may just change everything.  I'll only be gone a few minutes.  I won't go disappearing on you again, I promise.  Okay?"

Johnson sighed, his blush deepening a bit as he ran a hand through his hair.  "Alright, alright.  I'll take the hint and leave you to your peace.  But if you're not back in five minutes, I'm sending a search party," he said gruffly, the twinkle in his eyes belying the sharpness of his words.

"You probably better make it ten minutes, sir," Ezra offered with a smile, judging that it was safe to enter the conversation.  "She is a woman, after all."

Johnson laughed as Alex exclaimed "Hey!" and punched the agent lightly on the arm.  Ezra stepped to the side and rubbed the appendage lightly, but the smile didn't leave his features.  "You're right," Johnson agreed.  "With one arm, it probably will take her twice as long as the average woman.  I never have been able to figure out just what it is they do in there that takes so long."

Alex rolled her eyes with a huff and pushed him up the hall.  "Get out of here," she growled in exasperation.

Johnson took a moment to look intently at Ezra, the joviality in his eyes giving way to sternness and a hint of warning, but Ezra met the gaze without flinching. The older man finally nodded and, breaking the stare, turned up the hall and disappeared around the corner.  Ezra turned to the young lady beside him and motioned down the opposite way.  "We best be on our way, then.  The clock is ticking," he teased with a smile.

Alex sighed as they walked down the hall and Ezra glanced at her sympathetically.  "Mr. Johnson seems to have become a bit over-protective of late," he observed.

Ally rolled her eyes.  "You have no idea," she groaned.  "Ever since the attack, he hasn't let me out of his sight.  He's blaming himself.  He's always felt he let dad down in a big way, and then with all this that happened with Eddy and Bartinol slipping under everyone's noses—it's all got him a bit spooked."

"I'm sure it stems from a genuine concern for your wellbeing, though," Ezra offered, directing her around a corner into a small sitting area across from a large, empty reception desk.

"I know," Alex answered softly.  "It's just so _confining_.  I've been taking care of myself for the last six years.  It's hard to suddenly find myself being treated like I'm ten years old again."  

Ezra gave her another half smile of sympathy as they crossed the room toward the doors bearing the restroom signs.  "Yes, I believe it would be a bit overwhelming.  But I'm sure it will wear off eventually.  In a few years maybe?" he teased.

 "It better be sooner than that, or I'll have to take matters in my own hands!" she threatened with a grumble as she pushed through the women's restroom door followed by Ezra's light laughter.

A few minutes later, she emerged with the jacket draped across her arm, struggling to readjust the sling.  "Darn thing," she muttered darkly, "it's just in the way and is nothing but a nuisance!"  After fighting with it for a few seconds more, she finally sighed in defeat and looked up at Ezra imploringly.  "Would you mind helping me?" she asked shyly.

"Certainly," Ezra agreed as he stood up from the cushioned chair he had occupied to await her exit.  Together, they got it aligned properly with minimal fuss. "There," he announced as he took a step back.  "I completely concur in your opinion of that torture device, and I usually rid myself of them as soon as possible.  However, in our present company, it would probably prove to be prudent if you continued to keep it on.  There are those who would find it simply disastrous if you were to shed it, considering your injury."  He tapped the cane against the chair in distaste.  "I am speaking from personal experience that the discomfort of the sling is minute compared to that of the lecture you would receive if caught without it."

"Don't I know it!" Alex groused good-naturedly.  "You should have heard Uncle Tim this morning.  You'd thought I was a four year old playing with matches."

"I'm sure it was nothing compared to the lecture I received just yesterday from Mr. Jackson," Ezra shuddered theatrically as he sat down on the arm of the chair.

"I don't know," she disagreed.  "You haven't seen Uncle Tim get angry. I'd forgotten just how much of a bear he could be!"

 "Ah, but you have yet to witness Mr. Jackson in full 'mother hen' mode," Ezra smirked.  "I can assure you, positively nothing is worse."  He paused a second in contemplation then gave her a knowing look and a faint smile.  "Except, of course, Mr. Larabee's temper."

Alex shook her head with a small laugh.  "I think you've got me there."  

Silence fell between them then as Alex moved to the window across the room to stare out at the last bit of daylight on the western horizon.  The clouds above were tinted with a bit of gold and purple, hinting at the coming of a glorious sunset, and she wrapped her free arm around her stomach as she gazed at the scene through the transparent panel.  Ezra moved up to the opposite side of the window and leaned with his hands crossed on top of his cane as he followed her line of sight to the peaks beyond.  "Beautiful, is it not?" he observed, watching his companion's reaction out the corner of his eye.

Alex sighed deeply, a hint of melancholy coloring her eyes.  "Absolutely," she breathed.  She leaned against the window frame and rested her head on the pane, her breath condensing into a foggy mist on the glass.  "I'd grown used to seeing the mountains," she admitted quietly, smiling wanly in the fading light.  "I think I stayed too long in this city.  I've become rather attached to it, I'm afraid." Her voice was barely above a whisper as the smile faded again, but Ezra was able to hear everything that she said and some of the things that she hadn't.  "I don't think I've stayed as long anywhere else, except of course, for the last two years in Oceanside," she went on.

"Oceanside, California?" Ezra asked in surprise.  "Might I ask what held you there for such a length of time?" 

"School."  She glanced over at his expression and couldn't help but smile again.  "With all the new No Child Left Behind laws, I was able to enter school quite easily.  There are some shelters out there that are willing to help out someone who's willing to help themselves, if that person can be stubborn enough to prove they want to.  I kept searching around until I found the right people and made arrangements to finish high school.  I had to work my tail off, but I did it.  Got a diploma and everything."  Her smile faltered a bit, turning slightly sardonic.  "Of course, it doesn't hold my real name on it, so it probably doesn't mean much, but it was important to me."

"Why did you leave then?" Ezra furrowed his brows in question.

She shrugged.  "Oceanside was never home.  The coast is beautiful, to be sure, but, it just wasn't where I wanted to stay.  Guess it's that mountain blood in me, pulling me back east. As soon as I got my diploma in June, I lit out, heading back this way."

He smiled a bit.  "And you found yourself in Denver."

She nodded, lifting the corners of her mouth up slightly.  "Kind of hard not to.  Things just tend to gravitate here.  I got here in August, expecting to pass on through in a few weeks, to head further south for the winter, but one thing led to another and I just never got around to leaving."  She turned her gaze back out the window.  "I don't know, I guess it—it kind of felt like home.  Not the city itself, mind you, but the country around it."  She looked down at her arms wistfully.  "It had been a long time since I'd felt that.  A long time," she murmured.  She finally looked back up at him with a self-deprecating smile.  "Ridiculous of me, wasn't it?"

"No, it wasn't," Ezra quickly disagreed, turning to look her firmly in the eye.  "It's certainly not ridiculous for you, especially in your position, to want a home."  He laid a hand on her shoulder.  "Never think otherwise."  The melancholy in her eyes briefly stirred his own secret dreams and deepest-held wishes of something similar for himself, but he quickly pushed them away, refusing to allow himself to dwell on what could never be.

She dropped her gaze to her fingers for a moment then moved woodenly out from under his hand and back into the room to pick up her jacket from the chair where she had laid it.  "It doesn't matter anymore, anyway," she remarked hopelessly.  "You heard Mr. Harrison.  Uncle Tim and I are heading to the airport after this conference, and I'll be in DC in a few hours."

Ezra turned to face her and studied her closely, his eyes narrowing as he had a sudden insight.  "And is this arrangement what you want?" he asked softly.

She froze for a minute then shook her head slightly as she draped the jacket over her arm.  "It doesn't matter," she repeated sadly, keeping her gaze on the floral pattern of the chair.  Though she held her expression in complete indifference, the misery in her eyes touched a chord in Ezra's reportedly hard heart.  She seemed so alone just then—something that he could completely identify with—that he found himself wishing he could help her out.  He knew all to well what it was like to have no control over his own life—indeed, his childhood had been a thorough education in that topic, explaining why he was so obsessive with being in control of it now, having vowed to himself early on that no one was ever going to dominate him like that ever again.  

He moved forward a few paces and gently lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes.  "Doesn't it?" he quietly pressed.

She held his gaze for a moment, her eyes clouded and a bit misty, before tilting her head slightly and looking back out the window over his shoulder.  "No," she finally answered in a whisper as she dropped her eyes to the floor.  She took a deep breath and stepped away from him with a tight smile.  "Enough of that," she stated briskly, effectively cutting off whatever he had been about to say.  "Our ten minutes is about up, and I have a favor to ask of you."  She reached into the inside pocket of the jacket and pulled from it a long white envelope which she held it out to him.

Ezra sighed internally as the abrupt end to the conversation and reached out for the envelope. "Ask away," he answered, glancing at the front for a name in curiosity. 

"Will you take that to Rosie for me?" she asked timidly.  "I wanted to let her know what happened.  She'll worry terribly when I don't show up and will probably call out the hounds to come on the hunt of me."  She smiled softly.  "She's been good to me, and I—I've become fond of her too.  I don't want to leave here without some kind of explanation."

Ezra smiled reassuringly at her as he gently pocketed the envelope, treating it as a prized possession.  "I would be happy to deliver your missive," he promised.

Alex smiled back in gratitude.  "Thank you.  I'd tell her myself, but I haven't had a moment's peace, what with my watchdog guarding my every move."  She slung her jacket over her shoulder as they left the small room, heading back in the direction of the conference.  "Would you tell her that I'll miss her?  Tell her that I'm safe and happy now, and that I'll be sure to spread the word about her place to everyone I meet."

"I will," Ezra agreed.  They lapsed into silence as they continued their journey, both deep in their own thoughts. When they reached the office door, he moved forward to open it for her, but was stopped as she impulsively reached up and gave him a light hug.  He froze, not sure how to react.  

She smiled at the deer-in-the-headlights look on his face as she stepped back with a slight blush on her own features.  "I just wanted to thank you, too," she explained shyly.

"For?" he asked in confusion.

"For all the help you've given me," she answered softly.  "You have no idea how much it's meant to me, and I'll never forget it.  You're a prince, Mr. Standish, and a good man.  Thank you."  She quickly pulled the door open and entered the room, leaving him standing in the hallway, momentarily stunned. 

He finally regained control, and with a slight shake of his head, followed her into the room.  They crossed the outer office to the conference room and quietly entered, taking the seats left to them—him at the corner of the large mahogany table beside Vin, and her further up, between her Uncle and the district attorney.  Judge Travis glanced up at their appearance before turning back to the Interpol agent.  "So Bartinol has simply vanished into thin air, then?" he continued.

Johnson sighed in frustration.  "For the moment, yes.  We managed to track him to a small ranch down the mountain where he stole a truck and from there back into the city, but lost him in the weather.  But agents around the world have been pulling down large portions of his empire this week, based on the intelligence provided to us by Allen Sanders.  There are still areas, places that he can go, but they're quickly dwindling.  The man is a criminal genius—he had contingency plans, safe houses set up, so it's not surprising that he's managed to elude us at the moment, and Sanders's intel is six years out of date.  But his syndicate is ended.  He's out of business and on the run.  His capture is only a matter of time," he declared confidently.

"And what about Alex?" Chris asked from where he leaned back in the large chair across the table from the man.  "Does she go into protection?"

Johnson glanced down at the girl beside him and sighed again.  "Not into federal protection.  With the evidence provided by her father and what our agents are collecting now, her testimony is no longer crucial in getting a conviction."

"And since her testimony isn't needed, the powers that be decided that she didn't need their protection," Vin finished for him, a touch of disgust coloring his words.  Memories of his time with the Marshals come briefly to mind.

"Correct," Johnson agreed sadly.

"Well that's just a bunch of bulls**t!" Buck exclaimed angrily.  He received several scathing glares in reprimand, the worst coming from Chris and the judge, and sat back in his chair, sullen but properly chastised.

"But isn't she still in danger?" JD asked worriedly.

"I don't believe so, not from Bartinol, anyway," Johnson disagreed with a shake of his head.

"How so?" Josiah asked coolly, glancing at the girl in question, trying to gauge her reaction to the whole scenario.  Her face remained passive, almost bored, but the stiffness of her posture betrayed her uneasiness.  

"Bartinol's on the run.  He's too busy trying to save his own hide to start planning any elaborate revenge plots," Johnson answered.  "Besides, he's said it himself—he's a businessman first and foremost and he has no personal grudge against Alex.  His gripe was with her father.  All he wanted from her was the disks.  Now that they're out in the open, she's no longer a threat to him."

"So what happens now?" Nathan asked.

"We leave for DC in a couple of hours.  When Bartinol is captured, she will of course have to testify at the trial, and she will have to testify at Eddie Thomas's trial, but they are both just formalities."

"Thomas is going to make it, then?" Chris spoke up.

Johnson nodded gravely.  "Yes.  It was touch and go for a while, but he's improving.  He's still in ICU, and it will be a while before he's in any shape for a trial, but he will survive.  As soon as he's able, he'll be extradited back to Virginia to face charges of conspiracy, among other things.  He is cooperating with us.  I'm sure that will be in his favor."

"Thomas won't go to trial for months, possibly years, then.  The Randolph grand jury hearing will be held in a few months, depending on how long his lawyer can get it put off.  Why take her back to DC when she's going to just have to come back here?" Nathan asked. 

"My point exactly!" Harrison broke in irritably, slapping his hand against the table.  "The Randolph trial will be the trial of the decade for Denver.  With her testimony and that of Mr. Standish, we can try him for murder one. We need our star witnesses available, not halfway across the country!"

Johnson gritted his teeth.  "She will be available.  But there is no point to her staying here.  And while Bartinol may not be the vindictive sort, Randolph has certainly proven to be.  She would be in danger here!  I want her where I can personally keep an eye on her."

"Not anymore than Ezra or any of us," Josiah pointed out.  "And if Randolph wanted to get to her, he can do it in DC just as easily as he could here."

"Besides," Buck declared, "Randolph's got a lot more on his plate right now than planning his revenge.  The man's finished."

"And the same thing applies here as does for Bartinol," Josiah reasoned.  "Granted, she is important if you're going for a murder one wrap.  But if something were to happen to her or Ezra, God forbid," he nodded toward his coworker, "there is still plenty enough evidence otherwise to ensure that he goes down for a long, long time.  Randolph's a smart man.  Going after the witnesses just isn't worth it."

Johnson shook his head stubbornly.  "I want her in DC.  End of discussion." he sat back in his seat with a resolute expression on his face.

"She needs to be here in Denver!" Harrison argued.

"She needs to be with her family," Johnson shot back.

"You've said yourself she doesn't have one!"

Ezra raised another eyebrow at that and looked to Alex for confirmation.  Her eyes saddened as she nodded, and he tilted his head to the side in sympathy as he crossed his arms and tapped his lips with his pen, his mind turning over this new bit of information.

Chris's eyes narrowed at the statement.  "Explain," he ordered quietly.

Johnson glanced down at Alex, but she had already turned her attention back to her hand in her lap, trying to ignore the pitying looks from the others in the room.  He sighed.  "Shortly after Alex disappear and was presumed dead, her grandfather and uncle's family—his wife and four children—vanished."

"How do six people just disappear?" Nathan asked incredulously. 

Johnson ran a hand through his hair in frustration.  "An attempt had been made on them, as well," he continued.  "Not for kidnapping, but the first safe houses they were kept in were ransacked.  Practically demolished.  We moved them to another, safer place, and had no more incidents."

"So what happened?  Do you think Bartinol got to them?" JD asked in confusion.

"I don't know," Johnson shook his head.  "Knowing what I do now, I don't think so.  Thomas knew their locations, of course, but he also knew that they didn't have any knowledge of what was going on.  There was really no reason for Bartinol to go after them.  Of course, they didn't know that at the time."

"What was the official reasoning?" Vin asked grimly.

Johnson met the tracker's sharp gaze and shrugged.  "Officially, they were presumed kidnapped by Bartinol and dead."

"But what do you think?" Vin pressed.

Johnson snorted.  "Old Jackson Sanders was a man born after his time.  That old dog served as an intelligence officer in Korea in the fifties, then got out of the army after that and took up a civilian life, but stayed on call for 'special assignments' with the government during the early sixties.  He would occasionally help train recruits for the CIA and NSA up until the early eighties when he fully retired to take care of his ailing wife."

"He was a spy?"  JD asked excitedly.

Johnson nodded.  "One of the best.  Law enforcement was in the Sanders' blood—Jackson's grandfather had been part of the secret service, and the family has a history of sheriffs, marshals, and even a Pinkerton detective or two.  Allen preferred to stay out of the spy business himself, though, much to his daddy's relief."

"So Jackson figured there was a leak and pulled his remaining family into hiding," Chris observed flatly.

"That's what I think," Johnson agreed.  "He might have been out of the business for twenty years, but he still had connections.  Good connections.  In all this time, I haven't been able to find a trace of him.  But I figure that wherever he is, he's been keeping up with what's been happening.  If he's still alive, he's going to hear about this, you can bet your bottom dollar."

"Will he come out of hiding now that Sanders' evidence has come out and Alex has been found?" Josiah asked.

"I don't know," the other man sighed.  "Maybe, maybe not.  He's the wild card in the equation.  I don't know what he'll do, and without knowing what sources he's using, I have no way of predicting anything.  He could show up on my doorstep tomorrow, or never.  I don't even know if they're alive or dead, and may never know."

"Is there any other family?" Nathan asked.

"Jackson has a sister and niece living back in West Virginia and another sister in Florida.  I'm sure they'll want to see Alex, but for the time being, I'd prefer that she stay in DC.  There's nothing left in West Virginia for her to go back to."

"Which is why she should just stay here," Harrison griped.

"She's going back to DC," Johnson growled back, ready to restart their previous quarrel.

"Gentlemen," Orrin Travis raised a hand to halt the argument and wearily rubbed his eyes, "We've been over this before and have come to a decision.  Let's not rehash it now." He looked up at the men assembled in the room.  "I believe we've sufficiently brought everyone involved up to date on what is going on.  Chris, I'll expect your men's final reports on Monday morning."  He glanced at his watch and grimaced at the time.  "Meanwhile, I have dinner plans and rink side tickets to the hockey game tonight with my grandson, and you have a plane to catch, so if no one else has anything to add to this discussion, I suggest we call it a night."  He stood to his feet and looked at each man in the room before nodding in dismissal and closing the file in front of him.

Harrison grudgingly stood to gather his papers back into a neat pile to place in his briefcase while Johnson pulled his coat on, motioning for Alex to stand and offering to help her with her jacket.  Buck and JD stood up and stretched, but Josiah sat back in his seat, watching the protagonists in the recent debate and the subject of that debate with a thoughtful expression on his face.  He had the feeling this wasn't completely over.

Buck reached for the door handle but froze as Ezra, who had remained curiously silent throughout the proceedings, finally spoke from where he was still seated.  "Gentlemen, if I may, I do have a suggestion."

Several groans filled the air, the others knowing of Ezra and his propensity to talk, and JD plopped back down into his chair with a huff of exasperation.  The judge sighed but motion for Ezra to continue.  "Keep it short, Standish," he growled tiredly.

"Both gentlemen have provided valid arguments for the future of Miss Sanders, but I do believe someone's opinion has been left out," Ezra continued.

The others looked at him curiously, but Josiah leaned forward with his elbows on the table top, his hands folded over his mouth to hide a grin as he figured out where Ezra was going with this.  He looked across the table at Vin, who smiled back faintly with twinkling eyes, and raised an eyebrow at the sharpshooter as he realized the younger man was thinking the same thing he was.

"And that would be?" Travis asked, motioning for the agent to continue.

"Why, that of Miss Sanders herself," Ezra replied with a flourish.  "Agent Johnson has pointed out that she will not be remanded in the protective custody of the federal government, and as she is of age and of sound mind, I do believe she is perfectly capable of deciding her own fate and indeed should have the final say in the matter."

"There's nothing here for her," Johnson broke in stiffly.  "Look.  She has no place to stay here.  She has no money, no job, no transportation.  And while there is an inheritance from her father's estate, it's going to take months to sort out all the legal and financial problems and make those funds available to her.  If she comes back to DC, she can stay with me and my wife.  She'll have a place to live, a place to start over.  It's just easier that way.  End of story."

Ezra looked at the man coolly for a second before turning a softer gaze to the young lady in question.  "If it is obtaining a safe place for her to live until things can be sorted out that worries you, then I can easily provide a solution to that dilemma," he answered.  He looked back across the table at the older man and smiled.  "She can stay with me."

Josiah chuckled to himself as Nathan just about fell out of his seat in shock and Buck, who had just taken a drink from the paper cup he held, nearly choked.  Chris stared at his undercover agent unflinchingly, trying to figure his angle, but Vin leaned back in his seat and smiled knowingly.  Ezra rolled his eyes at the reactions he garnered and sighed in exasperation.  "Of course it would only be temporary until other arrangements could be made, and I would expect a percentage of the rent and utilities to be paid to me upon the acquirement of her funds."

"Oh, of course," Nathan muttered darkly, but was shushed by a glare from Vin and an elbow from Josiah.

Ezra glared at his coworker but continued on.  "And I'm sure that you can arrange emergency currency to be available to her until such financial legalities are settled," he pointed out to Johnson before turning to Alex and meeting her confused but hopeful gaze.  "As I said, it would be a temporary solution, but until you could make other arrangements, I would be delighted to have your presence in my humble abode." He looked back at Johnson and fixed the man with a penetrating stare.  "It is her life, and pardon my bluntness, but you have no right to dictate to her what she shall do with it.  What matters is what she wants."

Johnson met his stare for a moment before finally throwing his hands up in the air in defeat.  "Alright!  Alright.  You're right.  It's her life and her decision."  

Everyone in the room turned their attention on the girl in question, and she reddened under the scrutiny.  "Well, Miss Sanders?" the judge asked kindly.  "Do you prefer to stay in Denver, or do you want to return to Washington with Agent Johnson?"

Alex licked her lips nervously as she looked from one person to the other, struggling with what she knew she wanted to do and what she felt it was her duty to do.  She looked from Ezra's confident gaze to her uncle's troubled one, and finally out at the darkening sky through the window behind the judge.  She let out a sigh before turning back to the group and looked at her uncle apologetically.  "I'm sorry, Uncle Tim," she said softly, her expression begging for forgiveness, "But as you said, there's nothing back there for me.  I want a new start and a new life, and I want it here, in Denver."

Johnson closed his eyes a moment then put a fatherly hand on her shoulder and searched her expression earnestly before asking, "Are you sure?"

She nodded firmly.  "I'm sure—if Mr. Standish doesn't mind?"  She raised her eyebrows at him hopefully, giving him one last chance to back out, but he smiled in reassurance.  "The offer still stands, my dear, if you like."

Johnson leaned back against the table and studied her once more before sighing loudly, realizing he had lost the battle.  "If that's what you want, then."

She looked at him with growing confidence and smiled softly.  "It is."

"Then I guess I'll be returning to DC alone," he said grudgingly, crossing his arms and slowly returning her smile.  

The judged nodded his approval and reached down to pick up his folders.  "Well, now that that's settled, Gentlemen, I believe this meeting is adjourned."  He came around the table to shake the hands of Johnson and Alex then left the room, headed for his office to gather his things and go home.  

Harrison stood to his feet and gave them a slight nod before he picked up his briefcase and left as well.

"Well, come on, guys!  What are we waiting for?  Let's get out of here!"  Buck draped his arm across JD's shoulder and all but pushed him toward the door.  "Tonight's my lucky night—I can feel it!  Inez is going to agree to go out with me!"

"I thought you had a date lined up for tonight?" Nathan pointed out in good humor as he stood to his feet and pushed his chair back into its place.

"Sure I do, at nine o'clock," Buck explained.  "But it's only five thirty now.  I've got plenty of time to get changed, grab a couple of beers, and work on Inez!"

"Buck, you're full of crap," JD remarked with an exasperated shake of his head and gave the older man a playful shove. 

"I'll show you who's full of crap!" Buck growled, grabbing the boy around the neck and giving him a sound noogie as he pulled the him out the door.  JD's muffled protests could be clearly heard down the hallway and the others shook their heads in longsuffering amusement.  

"I'm headed home to change," Nathan announced as he picked up his jacket in preparation to leave.  "I'll meet you guys at the saloon a little later."

"Fine," Josiah answered as he finally stood up and stretched his own kinks out.  He gathered his own things together and headed for the door.  "I believe I'll head on over myself."  He turned to Alex and smiled.  "It'll be nice to have you around, sister," he said.  "If you need anything, just holler."

"I will," she smiled shyly in return.

The remaining members of team seven followed their comrades to their own offices to finish preparing to go home before heading down to the parking garage.  Johnson walked with them, intending to retrieve Alex's few possessions from his car before heading for Denver International to catch his flight home.  The elevator trip to the subterranean garage was a silent one, with each person wrapped up in their own thoughts.  When the carriage reached its destination, they all followed Johnson to his rented SUV, pausing to throw up a hand at Nathan as he hit the horn of his Cherokee in passing on his way to the exit followed immediately by Josiah's smoking suburban.  Vin couldn't help but snicker as his friend's rusty vehicle backfired loudly, echoing across the expanse as he stopped momentarily at the guard house before pulling up the incline onto the street.

And they called his jeep a piece of junk!

Johnson used the key ring remote to unlock the vehicle as they approached it and reached inside to pull a duffle bag and Alex's backpack from the backseat.  Alex took the backpack and slipped her good arm through the strap to free her hand for the duffle, but Vin reached around her and took it from the older man before she had a chance to, slinging it casually across his shoulder with a grin.  He received a soft smile of gratitude from the girl in response.  

The party stood in an awkward silence for a moment before Johnson finally cleared his throat and pulled the driver's side door open.  "Well, I suppose I should be going," he said gruffly, but made no move to climb inside.  "I've got a lot to do when I get back."  He pulled the girl into a tight embrace and held it for a moment.  "I wish you were going back with me," he whispered.

"I know," she said softly back, returning the hug before breaking away and looking up at him with a small smile.  "But there's just nothing there for me."

The older man sighed as he let her go, but kept a hand on each shoulder, returning her smile with a gentle one of his own.  "I understand.  Just remember that my home is open to you anytime you want it.  You're always welcome."  He then lifted his gaze to the three men before him, his expression becoming stern.  "Take care of her," he said.

Chris, Vin, and Ezra nodded, each understanding the unspoken plea in the man's words—_take care of her where I can't.  _Johnson held their eyes for a moment longer then finally let Alex go and climbed into the driver's seat.  "I'll be in touch as soon as I can things rolling," he promised as he slid the key into the ignition switch and turned it.  The large machine rumbled to life.  "I'll get you those emergency funds the first of next week.  If you need anything else, just call.  In the meantime, take care of yourself and keep out of trouble, you hear?  I've got enough gray hair as it is, thanks to you Sanderses."  

Alex couldn't help but roll her eyes a bit and smirk at the fatherly concern obvious in the order.  "Me?  I'm never any trouble," she teased lightly and laughed at his look of incredulity.  

He snorted and shook his head.  "That's exactly what your Dad used to say," he declared.  His expression turned wistful as though memories stole him away for a moment and the look he gave her became tender and more than a little paternal.  "Do be careful, girl.  I don't want to lose you again," he said softly.

Alex leaned in and gave him a soft peck on the cheek.  "I promise.  And you do the same," she commanded quietly before lightly smacking his shoulder.  "Now get on out of here before you miss your flight."  She shut his door tightly and stepped back to join the others as he put the vehicle in gear then backed it out of the parking spot, paused a moment to send them one last wave, and drove down the lane to the guard house.  

They watched the large vehicle until the tail lights disappear up the ramp into the darkness.  "Well," Vin said, breaking the silence.  "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving.  Let's get outta here."

He led the way back across the space to where his jeep, Chris's Ram, and Ezra's Jag were parked side by side in the now mostly empty garage.  Ezra released the trunk with his own remote, and Vin dumped the bag inside before slamming the lid shut.  He looked at his friend over the hood of the car as Ezra pulled the driver's door open.  "You still meeting us tonight?" he asked.

Ezra noted his hopeful expression but looked across the hood to Alex before turning back to Vin with a penitent expression.  "I'm sorry Vin, but I'm sure the young lady is tired and would like to settle in tonight.  Perhaps another time," he apologized.

Vin shrugged in disappointment.  "Sure," he agreed reluctantly.

Alex looked from one to the other and quickly made an appeal.  "No, really, I don't mind.  Truthfully, I'm a bit hungry myself."

Ezra raised an eyebrow in her direction in question.  "Are you sure?  The Saloon isn't the type of locale that you yourself would normally frequent, and being the normal leisurely meeting place for agents of this bureau as well as the local police precinct, it can get quite boisterous on Friday nights.  If you'd prefer someplace quieter, I will be happy to escort you there."

Alex grinned in assurance as she slipped her free hand into her jacket pocket.  "Sounds like I couldn't be safer anywhere else."

Chris snorted.  "I wouldn't be so sure of that," he said wryly.  "Liquor and this bunch tends to be an explosive match."

"You are including yourself, aren't ya, Cowboy?" Vin interjected with a grin.  "'Cause its seems to me that most of the trouble we get into down there starts with you."

"Because I'm trying to pull your scrawny butt out of the fire, _Cowboy,_" Chris shot back.

Ezra rolled his eyes at the girl.  "See what I mean?" he sighed in mock exasperation.

Alex laughed softly.  "Well, at least it shouldn't be boring," she commented.  "It's fine with me, really.  I'm sure I've been in worse places."

"Well then, gentlemen, it seems we have reached a verdict," Ezra said as he pulled his car door open.  "I suggest we reconvene at said establishment in post haste, before Mr. Wilmington has a chance to order for us."  

He shuddered dramatically and Vin couldn't help but smirk.  "What's the matter, Ez?  You didn't like what Buck picked out for you last time?"

"I hardly consider four bean burritos supreme smothered in nacho cheese sauce and a bottle of Budweiser to be appropriate for my palette," Ezra huffed.

"You just don't know real food when you taste it.  I happen to like Inez's burritos," Vin teased.

"This coming from the man who views upscale dining to be the local Waffle House," Ezra shot back.  "And I never claimed to dislike Inez's cooking.  I just prefer something lighter on the stomach."

Chris raised his eyes to the ceiling long-sufferingly while Alex covered her mouth to hide a giggle. "Enough," he growled, though there was no real heat in his tone.  "Let's just get down there, okay?  I'm in serious need of a drink."

Vin shook his head at the girl, his eyes shining with mischief.  "Just like a parent, ain't he?  Taking the fun out of everything."  He grinned at the garnered glare from the blond as he slid into his jeep and started it.

"Watch yourself, _Junior,_" Chris snapped back, climbing up into the cab of his truck.

"Yeah, whatever, Cowboy," Vin flipped back, grinning at Ezra and Alex before he backed out of his parking spot and slammed the gas pedal to the floor, causing his tires to squeal as he peeled off down the lane.

Chris just shook his head and slammed his door, muttering under his breath about Texans as he followed his friend.

Ezra and Alex watched them leave before he turned to her with a grin.  "I feel I should warn you about what you are getting yourself into by affiliating with this group," he warned.  "They can be a bit overwhelming at times."

Alex returned the grin with a shrug as she pulled the passenger door open and climbed in, settling the backpack at her feet before pulling the seatbelt across her chest.  "I don't know, I think it'll be fun.  You guys are an entertaining bunch."

Ezra slid into the driver's seat himself, fastened his seatbelt, and inserted the key into the ignition.  The car rumbled to life and he turned to her with a wicked grin.  "Then prepared to be entertained."  He backed the car out of its parking spot and slipped it into gear with a flourish before pressing the gas pedal to the floor, sending the sleek, black car racing toward the guard house and up the ramp.  

Alex just laughed as they pulled out into the evening traffic.

She was going to like these guys.

THE END

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I know, I know—after all that, I end up with a typical ending after all!  But I did have ya wondering for a while, didn't I?

I can't believe it's finished!  I've been at this story for over 10 months, and now that it's finally done, I'm at loose ends.  I do hope to have Alex appear in a few future stories (if I ever get around to writing them), though she won't be showing up in everything I may write.  However, her role should be dropping back to one of support, like Nettie and Casey, Inez, Mary, the Judge, etc.  Like I said before, I have no intentions of making her one of the seven, or so on—the guys are perfectly fine by themselves, and don't need any help!

I do want to give all my reviewers one last, huge thank you!  I would have never completed this without your wonderful words of support and encouragement and pleas for more.  You've all been great, and I'm so glad you enjoyed this!  You've really made this a wonderful experience for me, and given me the courage to try to keep at it.  You're the ones who've made this fun.

Well, it's been one wild and crazy journey, but the end is now here, and the ships are ready to leave the harbor (I've been watching too much LOTR again :) What did you think?  Was the action heart-stopping enough?  Were the characters true to themselves?  Were the plot twists evasive enough and the story hooking?  Did you like Ally?  Do you want to see more of her?  And, do you really think I should keep at this?

Oh, and one final thing before I go:  I don't mind if anyone else would like to use Ally, but I do ask that you get my permission first.  She's a good friend of mine, and there's just a few situations she'd rather avoid : )

Okay, that's all folks!  Until next time…..


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